Fusion
by irite
Summary: These two aren't so dissimilar; Tony's getting over a tough breakup and Natasha's adjusting to being her own woman. And New Yorkers aren't so thrilled with their little group, either. What's to be done? Sequel to "Finite," Part II of "If Nothing Else." Background Bruce Banner/Thor, other relationships to come.
1. False Front

**Welcome to Fusion. This is a sequel, but hopefully it makes a decent amount of sense without having first read Finite.**

**Do you like the fancy cover image? Well, that is courtesy of dysprositos, who is the best beta ever and who makes me things and makes me laugh. So let's all be thankful for her, m'kay?**

* * *

Natasha perches on the edge of a chair in the small room where the team will be assembling before they walk out to face the carefully-selected group of reporters she can already hear buzzing around and setting up in the other room.

She's the first one there, and she knows that's because of her nerves. It's not everyday one outs oneself as an assassin with more than one price on her head, after all.

But she and Clint had talked, and then she and Clint and Steve had talked, and finally she and Clint and Steve and Tony had talked, and they'd decided that if the assassins wanted to, they could go public with their identities.

And Natasha does want to.

The bounties out on her are years old, and there's really not anyone brave enough to try to collect anymore. And she's tired of the lying and slipping around. Anonymity is both a blessing and a curse, but lately it's just felt like a cage.

Clint feels the same, she knows.

And although Steve, Tony, and the others would never say it, having the four heavy hitters fronting the team isn't the best course of action. They need to appeal to the human element, and Natasha and Clint can do that when Thor, Iron Man, the Hulk, and Captain America can't.

And as neither of them are working for SHIELD anymore, they have no reason to stay in the shadows; their days of espionage done. It's a bitter pill to swallow, and Natasha knows she's going to have to re-evaluate her life soon, but for now she's not dwelling on the issue.

As far as the press conference goes, she _is _keeping one thing to herself, though. She's going public as Natalie Rushman, not Natasha Romanoff. That name is one she wants to keep to herself; it was the first thing she ever owned as a free woman, and she doesn't think the world is entitled to it.

Clint's decided to be himself, and when she'd asked him why, he'd told her that for him to assume an alias would be for him to give his past power over who he was now. He'd also said that it was a reason personalized to him, and he doesn't think any less of her for making the choice she had.

She'd punched his arm then, but she does appreciate that he would say that. It speaks to how well he knows her, that he knows that she'd attempt to read too much into what he'd said.

Unsurprisingly, given that he _does_ know her well, he's the next one into the "greenroom," pulling at the buttons on his polo, done up all the way to his chin.

Natasha stands and unbuttons all but the bottom one, and he sighs but lets her, shifting his weight impatiently from one foot to the other.

For someone whose job often takes superhuman amounts of patience, he's amazingly impatient when it comes to personal matters.

She takes her seat on the chair again, and he perches on the arm, getting up in her personal space.

He's the only person who can do that, and then when he starts fussing with her hair, well, he's the only person who can do that, too. Anyone else who tried would be introduced to the business end of one of the knives strapped to various body parts under her modest dress.

After a minute, he points her to the mirror on the wall across from them, and she goes over to inspect the damage.

It's not bad; he's managed to smooth down one section of hair that had managed to escape all of her attempts at containment, and although he's taken her bun from smooth and professional to messy with a few strands hanging out, she likes it.

Offering him a thumbs up, she's heading back to her chair when Thor and Bruce arrive, hand-in-hand. Natasha is glad they've got each other for support, because realistically speaking, they're the two loosest cannons on the team (Loki aside, of course), but they seem to have a grounding effect on the other.

They sit on a couch, and Bruce offers Natasha and Clint a nervous smile while Thor looks unflappable.

That makes sense, he probably would have experienced similar situations as a prince, dealing with a potentially disapproving (_Do they get all the way to 'hostile' on Asgard?_) public.

The four of them don't have much to say to each other, save Clint's casual reminder, "We're on for tomorrow at the range, right, you two?" and their affirmative responses.

But that changes when Tony saunters in, dressed in what she recognizes as his non-metallic armor: his flashiest suit, high-top sneakers, and sunglasses. He's been throwing himself into his work lately, since his girlfriend had broken up with him after they'd stopped the attempted invasion of New York by Loki's doppelganger, 'Larry,' and his Chitauri army. So it's different to see Tony dressed up, and not in greasy work clothes.

It's a nice 'different,' though.

He drops onto the couch next to Thor and Bruce and Bruce reaches over to whisper something in Tony's ear, to which Tony laughs heartily, slaps Bruce on the back, and says, "Hell yes, let's do that."

Bruce rolls his eyes, and then shrugs at Thor when he looks inquisitive, mouthing 'Later.'

Tony starts up a conversation with Clint about some arrow technology he's been working on developing, and Bruce is soon sucked into the technical jargon being thrown around.

A few minutes later, Steve hurries in, his shirt half-buttoned and his hair messy, apologizing before he's even all the way in the room, "I'm so sorry, I had a call from SHIELD, and they couldn't take a hint when I was trying to get away."

"What did they want?" Natasha asks.

"To tell us that Fury's being formally charged right now, and that they're going to take care of it. Hill's the new director."

Two days ago, Stark Tower had been the target of an abortive attack launched by Nick Fury, the former director of SHIELD, in an attempt to bring the Avengers (who had recently severed their ties with SHIELD) back under his control. Luckily, they'd been able to stop him before anyone had been hurt, and SHIELD had taken him back into custody to deal with his insubordination.

Steve continues, "Oh, and they 'strongly oppose' this press conference; how they heard about it, I'm not really sure. Speaking of that, where's Darcy? I thought she was going to be here..."

"Here!" she calls, pushing the door open and tugging Loki in after her, giving him a dirty look and a light shove towards an empty chair.

"Sorry, I was just finalizing the list of approved questions," she hands out copies, "and I lost track of time."

Loki rakes a hand through his hair and adds, "I wanted to wish you luck."

They had agreed on the car ride back from team practice that morning that Loki shouldn't appear today. They'd decided that they should let the public know his story, but not bring him out, to give everyone time to adjust to the idea that he wasn't the bad guy.

Loki had seemed a little upset by this, but he'd easily agreed, and he and Thor had talked about what they wanted to say.

Natasha finishes reading through the list, and tells Darcy, "This looks great, thank you." It's not praise she would normally give, but the inexperienced woman looks like she could use it, and, well, Natasha likes Darcy. She's spunky, and Natasha's read her file, knows what went down in her life, and is extremely impressed by the fact that Darcy has kept going despite everything.

That's a rare quality.

Darcy smiles and replies, "You're welcome, Nat. Now, uh, does anybody have anything to say before you go out there?"

Natasha reiterates, "I'm Natalie Rushman to them."

Steve nods seriously, and he asks, "Thor, Bruce, did you decide what you're going to say about the two of you and last night?"

Thor answers, "We decided to not discuss that today. We think that talking about Loki is going to be enough change for everyone to try to accept, much less our relationship. So that's something for later."

Loki blinks, long and slow, and then he smiles tentatively at Thor, who grins back. After what Thor had related of their recent history, it's good to see them getting along.

"Is there anything else?" Darcy asks, and then when nobody speaks up, she says, "Okay, then, uh, you don't have to answer anything you don't want to unless it's on the list of approved questions, and uh..."

Tony interrupts, "Just make sure you're smiling, and have fun. Don't let the sharks get to you," and then he stands up, pushing through the double doors to make his dramatic entrance.

Natasha rolls her eyes, but she nods to Loki and gets up to follow Thor and Bruce out (they reluctantly let go of the other's hand).

Clint stands behind her, but he reaches up to run a hand through Steve's hair, fixing it (the supersoldier had done up his buttons earlier) before the two of them go through the door.

Before the doors swing shut behind them, Natasha sees Darcy taking a seat in the chair next to Loki to wait.

Turning to face front, Natasha squares her shoulders and plasters a smile on her face, taking a seat between Tony and Clint towards one side of the table.

Though they don't want Tony to do all of the work, they'd agreed unanimously that he could do most of the heavy lifting, and he doesn't seem to mind, blowing kisses to a couple reporters and generally hamming it up for his audience.

On his other side, Steve is serious, Bruce is smiling carefully, and Thor looks unruffled by the whole process.

After a minute, Tony raises his hand and the reporters and photographers quiet down, leaning forward in their seats.

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to the first Tony Stark and the Avengers press conference!"

The audience laughs, and Tony straightens even more, continuing, "Now, I _know_ you know who _I_ am, but let me introduce you to my supporting cast. On the end there, we have Clint Barton, better known as Hawkeye."

Clint doesn't quite smile, but he does raise a hand to acknowledge the reporters.

"Next to him is Natalie Rushman, otherwise known as the Black Widow. I wouldn't get on her bad side, folks, she's damn scary."

Natasha rolls her eyes but tries to make her smile as non-threatening as possible.

Tony places a hand on Steve's shoulder, "And this man here is Steve Rogers. You may know him as Captain America, our first superhero."

Steve raises a hand and smiles, gently shrugging Tony's hand off his shoulder.

"And this unassuming man here," Tony leans across Steve to punch Bruce lightly on the arm, "is Dr. Bruce Banner, the only person in the room _half_ as smart as I am."

Bruce nods to the audience, and Natasha is surprised when Tony continues down the line, not mentioning Bruce's superhero identity. If the press has two brain cells to rub together, they've done the math, and since he's obviously _not_ Thor, then they must know Bruce is Hulk.

But Tony's leaning back into his seat and talking, "And the behemoth down there on the end is Thor, who just isn't cool enough to have an alter ego. Sorry, big guy!"

Thor lifts his palms in a shrug, and responds, "You're still mad that I wiped the ground with you the first time we met, Tony."

His grasp of Earth idiom is wonderful, and Natasha idly wonders how much of that was him, and how much was Darcy's influence.

"Oooh, that stung, big guy. How long did it take you to think that one up, Blondie?" To the audience, Tony comments in a stage whisper, "You know what they say about blondes."

"Hey, I resent that!" Clint chimes in, making an attempt to be animated.

"You're a _dirty _blonde. That's practically brown, so you don't count."

"But what does that make me, Tony?" Steve joins in the banter.

"You're just our pretty figurehead. Everyone _knows_ Nat's the brains of the organization, right, sweetheart?"

"Call me sweetheart again and I'll break your arm," Natasha threatens through the laughter that's promising to escape.

Tony clings to Steve's arm, "Steeeve, she's being mean to me! Make her stop," he whines.

Steve meets her eyes over Tony's head, and she nods minutely.

"Now, Natalie, you know you can't be mean to Tony or you get grounded for a week. That means no weapons, young lady."

Putting a pout on her face, Natasha thinks that this is almost fun.

Before anyone else can throw their hat into the comedy ring, the first few hands go up, and Tony detaches himself from Steve and points to a woman in the front row.

She looks dead-on at Bruce, and says, "Am I correct to infer that you're the Hulk, Dr. Banner?"

Bruce doesn't wince, but he meets her gaze and replies, "Yes, I am."

"And why are you here, then? I covered what happened in Harlem in 2010. You're a danger to people and property, and you should be contained."

Tony shakes a finger, his tone deceptively light. "Ah-ah-ah, naughty. We're being nice to Brucie-kins; he's just as much an Avenger as the rest of us. Well, except for me, but that's obvious."

She sits down, and Tony points to a man with his hand in the air politely. "You."

"Is Thor really not from Earth? Is he from the same place as the aliens who tried to take over?"

"I am indeed an Æsir, that is, I'm from Asgard. But I am the protector of Earth on my world, and there is no place I would rather be. The aliens, the Chitauri, who attempted to invade your world, they were from another realm, one not known to my world at present. We have yet to explore all of the World Tree."

The man takes his seat, and another woman stands up to speak before Tony can call on the next person.

It takes Natasha a minute to realize that Christine Everheart has dyed her hair brown, but by then the pushy woman is already speaking, "And is it true that you have broken up with your CEO, Virginia 'Pepper' Potts, Mr. Stark?"

"No comment," Tony says blankly, and she takes her seat huffily.

Tony doesn't seem inclined to select the next questioner after that, so Steve points to a woman, "You, ma'am."

She rises and asks, "Was that Thor outside the Tower last night? It looked like he was coming back from a date...with another man."

Thor keeps his face neutral and Steve tells the woman, "That's not on the list of questions we'll be answering; sorry, ma'am."

And they continue to answer questions, until all 100 attendees have gotten a chance to speak. Then, Thor pushes his chair back and walks around the table where they are seated.

He takes a deep breath and then begins, "Some of you may have heard reports that the attack on your city was led by my brother, Loki, yes?"

Several audience members nod, and Thor continues, "Those reports are inaccurate, as my brother was being held captive by those same aliens at that time. One of their shapeshifters had adopted Loki's appearance to attempt to create animosity between your world and mine. But we have rescued him, and he is healing. We hope that you can overlook what the Chitauri have done, and accept his presence in time. Thank you."

Thor heads back around the table and through the double doors. Natasha thinks that he did wonderfully with that speech. He gave the relevant information, but the bare minimum, and put it on the population of Earth to do the right thing and accept Loki without directly being accusatory. She suspects Loki's influence in how the speech was worded, and that's interesting, that the God of Mischief would be good at diplomacy.

But it's a good move, and she smiles to herself as she rises with the others to exit the room.

In the back room, Darcy quickly slips out to go see that the reporters are leaving without any ruffled feathers, and Thor has Loki in a tight hug.

Bruce carefully pushes past the others to go lay a hand on Thor's back, and after a moment Thor lets Loki go and takes Bruce's hand instead.

"Well, that went well," Tony snarks, sagging against the wall, an abrupt contrast to how bubbly he'd been only moments before.

"Are you okay, Tony?" Steve asks. "That was a low blow, for her to ask about Ms. Potts like that."

Tony waves a dismissive hand. "Oh, that's just Christine. She loves to be a pain in the ass. No harm done."

But there's a tightness to his face that wasn't there before, and Natasha is worried. He hasn't really gotten over their breakup. At least, if he has, he hasn't done it publicly or in any manner Natasha has heard of before.

But before she can dwell on that, Clint bumps her elbow and mutters, "Wasn't so bad, huh?"

"Not at all, 'Goldilocks.'" It wasn't something she'd want to do every day, but it hadn't been as bad as she'd thought it would be.

Clint snorts, and then Darcy comes back in.

"They're all gone, and I think you made a good impression on them with that speech, Thor. Uh, everyone did a good job...except Tony."

"Are you kidding me? I was the best one!"

"Well, I was _going_ to say you did a _great_ job, but I don't know if I think that anymore..."

Tony throws an arm around Darcy's shoulders and steers her toward the door, talking loudly about his 'awesome qualities,' and they all follow the pair down the hall to the elevator.

They're not all going to be able to fit, so Natasha follows Steve and Clint to the stairwell. She overhears Tony informing Darcy and Bruce that it's time for them to come see the footage from the team practice earlier, and she thinks that Tony will probably be fine for now, although she does want to talk to him later.

* * *

Everyone's tired, so dinner that night is quiet, and they go to bed earlier than usual, even Tony, who usually has to be reminded of mere human things such as limitations on how sleep-deprived the body can become.

* * *

The next morning, Natasha's the first one down in the communal kitchen, but Darcy, still in her PJs, joins her a few minutes later and wordlessly flips on the TV to the morning news.

They're running some sort of public opinion poll.

Wait, actually, there are _two_ polls, one on Loki (_of course_) and one on Bruce.

"_Should these potentially dangerous menaces be allowed to stay in our city?"_ the crawler reads.

"At least they say they're only _'potentially'_ dangerous," Natasha offers.

Darcy grimaces, and Natasha quickly switches tactics, filling a coffee mug and mixing in the cream and sweetener the way she knows Darcy likes. Darcy jumps a little when Natasha presses the mug into her hands, but Natasha just says, "Everything looks better after coffee."

Darcy snorts, and takes several long drinks. Pushing her hair out of her face, she meets Natasha's eyes. "I don't know what to do, Nat. I'm a _poli sci_ major, not public relations! Hell, even communications or English would be more useful about right now."

"Take a few deep breaths. This is nothing that can't be fixed once we butter up the right people. Why don't you go take a quick shower, and JARVIS, can you get the others up? Ask them to get ready and come on down here, and we can talk strategy over breakfast."

"Yes, Agent Romanoff," JARVIS responds.

Darcy finishes her coffee and meets Natasha's eyes, "_Thanks,_ Nat."

"Don't thank me now, we've still got a ton of work to do."

Darcy smiles ruefully and leaves the room.

Natasha quickly mixes up the batter for pancakes and starts to fry some bacon, wanting to be ready to go when the rest of the team arrives.

And isn't it strange, that she thinks of them as her 'team?' But that's what they _are_, her team, and she will fight to keep them that way.

She asks JARVIS to turn the TV off, not wanting to overwhelm anyone with the bad news right away, although some of them may already know.

Steve's the first one down, unsurprisingly, and she politely asks if he can set the table. He does, and he's quiet, so she doesn't know what's going through his head.

Clint comes in, followed by Tony a minute later, and the two of them cluster around the coffeemaker, not talking.

But that's probably because they're too busy drinking.

Thor and Bruce come in together, and Bruce _definitely_ knows. The lines around his eyes are pronounced, and his posture slumped. They sit next to Steve at the table, who is apparently lost in thought.

Finally, Darcy hurries in with Loki, who doesn't seem to know yet, and Natasha wonders why Darcy didn't tell him. It seems like the kind of thing he would have preferred to hear in private, but it's too late for that now.

Darcy sits at the table with a tablet, but Loki approaches Natasha and asks if he can help.

She's surprised, but she covers that up, and instead asks if he can take the cooked food to the table.

He carries over the platters, and takes a seat next to Darcy when there's only the plate Natasha is still loading hot-from-the-griddle pancakes on.

Clint elbows Tony, and they carry their coffee mugs over to the table, but nobody starts eating until Natasha joins them.

Bruce doesn't eat much, and Thor tries to slip more food on the scientist's plate when he isn't looking, but Thor isn't very good at subtlety. Eventually, Bruce gives up the premise of eating at all, putting down his fork and twisting his hands together in the napkin in his lap.

After everyone seems done, Darcy asks JARVIS to turn on the TV.

Nobody seems very surprised to see the poll, and now they've moved on to speculating about Thor's trustworthiness, as well as Loki's and Bruce's. Their logic seems to be based on Thor's defense of Loki, and Natasha thinks secretly that he and Bruce probably made the smarter decision, to not announce their relationship yesterday. It would have thrown more suspicion on Thor's character; it being publicly known that he's in a relationship with persona non grata number two in addition to being related to number one would more than likely have earned him third place on the public's shit list. And the fact is that they're going to need him.

After a moment of the reporter's insipid droning (she's said the same things two and a half times now, by Natasha's count—and hasn't even changed her wording), Tony calls, "Mute. Well, this sucks. What're we going to do about it?"

Darcy, who has been eating one-handed while she works on her tablet with the other, grins deviously. "I've got a few ideas."

* * *

**Comments? Concrit?**


	2. Marching Onward

**dysprositos is the best. End of story.**

**Thanks to everyone who's reading so far!**

* * *

There's a long, dramatic pause after Darcy's declaration, until Clint prompts, "Well, you gonna share with the class or what?"

Darcy grins like she was just waiting to be asked, and explains, "Well, kill 'em with kindness, you know. Make it so they can't _help_ but appreciate you guys."

Bruce straightens from his protective hunch and asks, "How?"

Darcy steeples her fingers in front of her face. "It's pretty easy. They're still cleaning up the city from the Chitauri's little 'visit,' right? Well, you guys get out there and help. You made half the damn mess anyway. Smile. Act like you give a damn."

Natasha crosses her arms over her chest, "Is that it? You did say plan_s_..."

"So I did. Tony, there's some sort of a charity gala...thing tomorrow night. Sounds like it'd be just your scene. And I checked all the main retailers' websites, and nobody has any Avengers merchandise out on the market yet. Seems like that'd be a good place to start."

Natasha nods.

Tony, however, isn't quite so sure. "So you want me to attend this charity gala and also flood the market with Avengers themed merchandise manufactured by my company?"

"Yeah."

"You're telling me to go get drunk on other peoples' booze and also to make a shitload of money."

"If you want to word it like that, you can," Darcy responds.

"So you're giving me the easiest job. Basically I'm just doing what I do every day."

"Except if you get drunk at that gala and fuck up this for everyone, I will remove parts of your anatomy. Starting with the most annoying part, your tongue. Is that clear?"

Tony salutes, "Ma'am, yes, ma'am." He turns to Steve. "Oh, wait, isn't that your line, dude?"

Steve's shoulders slump for a second, "Tony, I don't have a monopoly on any figures of speech. I think this is a great plan, Darcy, thank you for your hard work. I'll be happy to get out there and assist with the cleanup."

"I will also be glad to help, Darcy," Thor says, "And if you'll excuse us, we're going to go get ready to go out. Clint, we'll postpone our practice until a better time, okay?"

"Sure thing, Thor."

Thor stands and tugs lightly on Bruce's arm; the scientist, lost in thought, follows his boyfriend (_Is that what they are now?_ Tony wonders) out of the room.

Natasha speaks up, "Darcy, what do you want me to do? I don't know how effective I'll be doing cleanup."

"I want you to help Loki and me. We're going to get together something to show the mayor, try and get him on our side. You're good with that, right? I figured you might not want all the publicity, but Loki and I can do that by ourselves if you'd rather go out with the guys. Whatever works for you is good with me."

"No, helping you two is just fine. You're right, that's what I'd rather do, work behind the scenes."

"Okay, then. Does anyone else have anything to say? Suggestions, anything at all? 'Cause I've never done anything like this before..."

"How effective are you thinking this is going to be, Darcy?" Loki, tension clear around his mouth, asks. "Because I do not know the people of this realm very well, but I would suspect that if they are anything like the Æsir, hurts are not so easily forgotten."

"You know, Loki, that's a good question. And I can't really answer that right now, but can we agree to just play this by ear? See how today goes and make changes as needed? If it's an epic fail, there's always Plan B."

"Of course, Darcy. Thank you for your help."

Darcy smiles back, and in apparent agreement to her plan, Steve nods and Natasha inclines her head.

Tony, already caught up in planning, takes a moment to respond, "Huh? Oh, yeah, sure."

"That sounds good," Clint says slowly, "but don't you think it might be better if we did something else, too? Yesterday seemed to go over well, uh, I mean overall, so maybe we should keep going on with things like that?"

"That's a good idea. Maybe you shouldn't appear as a group, though. Not all the time, at least. Do smaller chunks, one or two people at a time, and let the public get to know you as individuals. Talk shows and late night comedy, anyone?"

"Sounds like a...good idea," Natasha replies. "As much as I hate the idea, I'm game. I suppose I should do a daytime talk show." A sour look on her face, she continues, "That seems to be the more accepted place for women in society, and no use rocking the boat. Yet."

"I like the way you think." Darcy's smile promises some future mischief. "Preferences, anyone else?"

After a moment, when nobody has responded, Darcy continues, "Okay, then, I'll try to put people by where I think they'd be the best fit. That means no comedy for Clint."

"The hell? I'm funny!" Clint protests, and the somber mood lifts, just a little.

"Go, team?" Tony offers.

Darcy rolls her eyes, and says, "Well, everyone, I guess you know what to do now? Let me know if you need anything, everyone has my number, right?"

Clint doesn't, so they're working that out as Tony leaves the room, off to plan new lines of merchandise and then see about an invitation to a gala, where he absolutely, positively, will _not_ get drunk.

Because he's rather attached to his tongue, thank you very much.

* * *

_Tony led Darcy and Bruce into the living room, and called to JARVIS, "Queue it up."_

_Bruce looked skeptical, and Darcy seemed intrigued, but Tony flopped on the couch and spread his arms out__ across the back of it__._

"_You waiting for an invitation or some shit, c'mon!"_

_Bruce and Darcy__ sat together on a different couch, and Tony tried not to mind. Truthfully, he didn't know either of them all that well, for all his joking with Bruce, his 'Science Bro.'_

_Rather than let it bother him (neither of them was particularly touchy, and it _had_ been a long morning), he simply told JARVIS to play, and crossed his legs._

_The film started up from when Tony landed in his suit, before Thor and Loki had even put their armor on._

"_Fast-forward to after he's gone Hulk, they don't want to see all this," Tony dictated to JARVIS, who complied._

_The film resumed as Bruce turned his back on the others and began to grow, turning back to face them as Hulk and looking around._

_He seemed nervous, maybe even a little disoriented, but Thor calmed him down and Hulk started talking._

_When he asked Thor what 'friends' were, Tony had been unable to restrain himself, and had rushed forward, at which point the suit-mounted camera got shaky._

_Tony had evidently startled Hulk, who rushed into the copse of trees behind him to hide._

_Thor yelled at Tony, and yeah, he'd fucked up. That wasn't anything new._

_With some convincing, Hulk had come out of the trees, and they'd begun practice._

_Tony looked over at the room's other occupants, and Bruce seemed riveted, leaning forward, his eyes fixed on Hulk. Darcy's arm was looped through his, and she seemed just as fascinated._

_After the tape of the practice had concluded, Tony called for JARVIS to shut it off, and then he looked at the others expectantly._

"_Well, what'd you think?"_

"_It's fascinating," Bruce replied. "He _moves_ like I do, and that fear, that only reinforces some of what I was thinking. I'm sorry I was scared of you, Tony."_

_Tony waved that aside, "No problem. I act without thinking, and that can be damn scary. __For me as well as everyone else.__"_

_Darcy stood, and Bruce moved with her, her arm still tucked into his.__ She said,__ "I want to go check on everyone, Tony, but thank you for this. And thanks for being such a help with the press thing earlier, I think you really made it easier for the others."_

Of course, it would be the show pony get-up that made an impression on her_, Tony noted ruefully._

_They left, and Tony overheard Darcy asking Bruce when she would be able to meet Hulk, and Bruce's tentative, but affirmative__,__ answer._

_With nothing else to do, Tony had headed to the workshop to kill some time._

* * *

One foot pushing him from side to side in the swivel chair in his lab, Tony takes a deep breath.

He's got a good sample of merchandise plotted out on the screens in front of him, and now comes the hard part.

Pepper's still CEO, and that means, in order to get this new project authorized, he's going to have to go through her.

Which means calling her. And she has, in the wake of their breakup, retreated to Malibu, to her own apartment a couple miles from company HQ, and not even so much as sent him _one_ work-related email. Her assistant has sent a few, just documents that needed his signature as majority shareholder.

Stark Industries is not really _his_ company anymore, and really, he's okay with that as long as they keep to the path he had set them on after Afghanistan, but it still stings a bit.

Plus the whole his-ex-is-running-the-company thing. That would get under anyone's skin.

But the team (and how weird is that, that Tony has a _team_? It's always just been Tony and JARVIS, maybe a little Tony and Rhodey—for a while it was Tony-and-Pepper—but now there are _seven_ other people in the equation, and Tony still doesn't have all the variables) is counting on him, so Tony's got to bite the metaphorical bullet and _do it_.

He dials the familiar number, his phone on speaker in front of him, and continues to swing from side to side, slowly, monotonously.

It rings three times (Tony counts), and then Pepper picks up. "Tony? What's wrong?"

Because he can't _ever_ call her without there being something the matter. She's not incorrect, of course, but the implication still chaps him.

"Hiya, Pep. D'you get any New York news outlets out there?"

She's quiet for a minute, but he hears her typing away on the computer and then drawing in a shocked breath. "Oh, _Tony_."

"I guess you hadn't seen, then."

"And you want me to do something about this?" There's a note of ice, of steel to her voice that hadn't been there...before. Before the breakup, before she'd looked him in the eye after he'd just _died_ for his city, for what was right, and told him that she couldn't do it anymore, that she couldn't sit around on her hands waiting for the inevitable call that he was dead. She wasn't going away from the company, just him. She needed the emotional distance, so when the inevitable _did_ happen, she had some armor built up.

That had _hurt_.

She'd probably been right, but it had still stung like crazy. It still stings, the wound raw and fresh.

Even though he knows that Pepper had made the right decision to leave him (because he couldn't change for her, and he couldn't ask her to change for him), there's apparently no rationality dictating how he feels. He should do something about that...

"No, Pepper, I just need your authorization as CEO to start a new project. We're handling this here, even got a, well, I guess you'd call her a publicist? and everything. It's all good. Just your John Hancock, and you're done dealing with me for a while."

"Tony, you're in charge of R&D, what do you need me for?"

"Because being head of R&D does not give me authority over the Marketing Department, and you _know_ Barnwell doesn't like me. He'll get in my way however he can."

"Okay, Tony, whatever you need. Blanket permission. Just, don't do anything dumb. Please. No exploding toys for the public or something; we just got through settling the last proposed lawsuit out of court."

"Whatddya take me for, Pep, reckless? No, wait, don't answer that. Thanks. I appreciate it. We'll talk soon, okay?"

"_I_'ll call you. Be careful, Tony, okay?" There's a note of pleading in her voice that he has never noticed before.

"Don't worry about me, Pepper; I'm unkillable. Thanks for your time."

He hangs up before she can, and derives a small amount of satisfaction from that.

It's petty, he knows, but he really can't bring himself to care. She hurt him, and he's trying to be a bigger person and not lash out in return, but it's hard.

But his personal problems are not the issue right now, and as his email dings with the copy of the document he needs to put Barnwell, the smarmy asshole Obie had hired to run the Marketing Department (Tony had never gotten around to getting rid of him), in his fucking place.

He compiles his preliminary plans and sends them off to Barnwell with a copy of the document from Pepper.

That done, he pushes his chair in a full circle before standing up and going over to retrieve a bag of blueberries. Breakfast feels like it was forever ago.

Absentmindedly eating, Tony asks, "JARVIS, what exactly is this gala Darcy wants me to put on my penguin suit for? Wait, don't tell me, lemme guess, it's something that's gonna leave me a lot lighter in the checkbook, yeah?"

"Sir, Ms. Lewis's search history indicates that she is talking about the Maria Stark Foundation's fundraiser tomorrow night."

"Hang on, _Mom_? And I didn't know about this?"

In answer, JARVIS plays a video clip of Tony receiving a letter in a fancy envelope, and promptly wadding it up and tossing it in the direction of the trash can. The footage is rewound and JARVIS zooms in on the return address. Sure enough, it's from the Foundation.

"Jesus fuck, JARVIS, turn that thing off. I don't know where you got that sass from...one of these days... Anyway, I don't _do_ paper, I thought everyone knew that."

"It has also been on your calendar, sir, and if you ever bothered to check it, then you might have been aware of the event."

"Shut the fuck up, I'll manage my own life, thank you very much. Now, do we still have that invitation?"

"As your throw missed the garbage can, I believe you will find it in the far corner of your lab, sir."

"I'm going to downgrade _you _into a trash can and give to the city one of these days, I swear."

Tony stands and goes over, hunting through the small pile of...miscellany that seems to have accumulated in the corner of his lab.

Under an old, brown banana peel, he finds the dark blue envelope, and shaking it off, he takes it back to his seat to open it.

Sliding his finger under the flap, he almost immediately gets a papercut.

"_Ow!_ Fuck me sideways, that _hurts_."

Sticking the injured finger in his mouth, he hunts around for something to open the envelope with.

Finding nothing, he opens a new document on his design program and starts to sketch out plans for a letter opener.

After about five minutes, JARVIS announces, "Sir, you are not supposed to be doing that. I believe if you look to your left, you will find a straight razor that should be sufficient to open your invitation."

Exactly _what_ a damn straight razor is doing in a pile of wiring insulation, Tony has no clue, but he retrieves it and finally opens the envelope.

"About damn time," Natasha says, applauding lightly, and Tony jumps about ten feet in the air, landing on the edge of his chair and tipping over, pulling his hand out of his mouth at the last second to catch him before he can faceplant onto the unforgiving concrete floor. The straight razor goes flying in the opposite direction and skitters under something.

"_Shit_, woman, make some noise or something, Jesus! What are you, a ninja?"

"My apologies, I had no idea you were so unobservant. Is that your invitation to the gala?"

Tony retrieves the card from the floor and scans it. He nods. "Sure is. I can bring a plus one, too, uh, you wanna go?"

In all honesty, he'd rather take her than Darcy, and taking one of the guys as his date would probably rock the boat too much at this point. Ugh, politics. Besides, he couldn't take Thor or Bruce, or Loki either, and Steve'd probably be miserable. And Clint's still kind of twitchy in public. So Natasha it is. Just two friends, going out for an evening.

Yeah. That's a laugh.

Natasha shrugs. "Sure, someone has to make us look good."

"Hey, I resent that! I can make us look good without even trying."

"Sure, Tony, of course. Whatever you say. How's everything going?"

"Fine, fine. I talked to Pep, got her approval to send off a marketing proposal to the appropriate department, sent that off, was insulted quite roundly by my own AI, and then this crazy cat assassin startled me."

"You okay?" Natasha's face is softer, more concerned.

"Me? Yeah, I'm good. Better than good. Great."

"You know, Tony, if you ever want to talk, I'll listen. Or one of the guys will if that's what you want."

"Thanks. I'll keep that in mind."

His workstation beeps, signaling an incoming email, and Tony looks at Natasha, "That's probably that bastard Barnwell. Gotta deal with this, see you later."

"Somebody'll bring you down lunch in a bit; it's only Loki, Darcy, and I here right now. Everyone else has gone out."

"'S good," Tony replies, distracted by the email.

Natasha must have left then, but he doesn't notice, too involved in Barnwell's dumbass ideas.

This is going to take some doing. Also, possibly some diplomacy.

Tony settles in for a long afternoon.

* * *

_It was just after Vanko's defeat, __and __Tony had carried Pepper up to the rooftop and kissed her._

_She had said she couldn't do it anymore, couldn't take the pressure as CEO._

_Tony swore that evening, swore up, down, and sideways that he would make the job easier for her._

"_After all," he'd said, "I'm not dying anymore."_

_And she'd huffed and hit his shoulder ineffectually; he was still in the suit._

_Rhodey'd come busting in and snarked, and Tony had snarked back, and things mostly had gone back to normal._

_But sometimes after then, Pepper would bring her work home, and Tony would spend more time in the workshop so that he stayed out of her hair (she'd been reduced to throwing things __at him __a time or two)._

_And there were the times he'd catch her looking at him like her heart was breaking._

_And he hadn't known what to do. He'd stepped up the presents, made sure that she had one night free of work a week__ (no matter who he'd had to bribe)__, had taken her out to dinner, given her all the space he'd thought she needed._

_Iron Man hadn't gone out much, other than when necessary. No supervillains, just maintenance jobs. Simple, easy, danger-free._

_But then the world had needed saving, and she told him to go, wouldn't let him blow it off._

_And she'd hidden it well, oh so well (when had she become such a talented actress? __How had he missed it? What else had he overlooked?__), but he could tell she was unhappy._

_And then there had been the missed phone call, and the wire that Tony __damn well__ threw himself on, and the conversation._

_He'd resolved that evening, after she'd left, to not ever let it get that deep again._

_But then there was the team, and they've managed to get under Tony's skin._

_And he _doesn't know what to do_._

_A first._

* * *

Loki brings in lunch about an hour or so later, just as Tony's in the middle of a tense phone call with Barnwell. Who is, unsurprisingly, being an ass.

Tony _might_ have been an ass first.

Setting the plate of sandwiches and chips on some empty table space, Loki pulls a Coke out of the pocket of his loose hoodie and puts it on the table as well.

Turning to leave, the demigod seems to think better of that idea, and spins back around, propping his hip on a table and waiting for Tony to finish up his phone call.

Finally,_ finally_, Barnwell admits he's beaten, and agrees to reassign a team to go over Tony's proposed designs as soon as possible.

Tony scrubs a hand through his hair and devours one of the sandwiches in about three bites, before noticing Loki, waiting patiently for Tony to be available.

"Oh, hey, what's up, Gandalf?"

"I just wanted to thank you for what you are doing for me. You do not have to help, and yet, you are."

Tony appreciates Loki's blunt approach. He tells the demigod, "Didn't you get the memo? I'm a 'hero' now. That means I've gotta live with you crazies, might as well get along with you in the process."

Loki cocks his head to the side, and says, "Well, I do appreciate it. Thank you."

And with that, he turns around and leaves the lab. He's said what he needed to say, and so he departed. Tony likes that about Loki, that he doesn't try to fill the silence with empty chatter. And sure, he's only gotten his voice back a few days ago, but still.

If Tony had lost his voice, he probably wouldn't have stopped talking once he regained it until he passed out. He's self-aware enough to recognize that about himself.

And overall, Tony likes Loki because the stubborn bastard has not let his bad circumstances in life beat him. Plus, he seems like a good guy.

And Tony doesn't exactly want to piss Thor off again any time soon; last time had been enough for him, yes sirree. 400% power was fun, but almost being electrocuted in the process wasn't.

And at the rate he's been burning through suits, he's going to have a greater demand than supply before long.

Tony quickly finishes his lunch and then goes back to work, as the documents begin to flow from his computer terminal to the team out in California (who can't seem to appreciate his genius), and back again.

He hasn't designed anything for the popular market in years, and it's kind of fun, really, trying to predict what will and won't catch on.

* * *

JARVIS alerts him that dinner is ready and the others are expecting him, so five minutes later (after another two reminders), Tony closes up his in-progress file and heads down for dinner.

Thor, Clint, Bruce, and Steve have returned, and they all look sweaty and tired but very satisfied. Bruce is smiling widely, a striking contrast to his melancholy just that morning.

Darcy flips on the TV while they eat, and the Avengers are no longer the main headline, but they do get a pretty significant feature about twenty minutes into the news program.

'Thor, Captain America, Hawkeye, and the Hulk seen out helping to rebuild New York City,' one headline reads, along with pictures of the four of them hard at work.

The anchorwoman informs the audience, "They appeared just after the maintenance crew and volunteers set to work today, and politely asked if they could help. Thor and Captain America were soon put to work helping to move heavy debris, while Hawkeye and the Hulk worked together to sweep up broken glass."

"Glass, Clint, really?" Natasha jokes. "Thought you were cooler than that."

"Shut up," Clint replies, although it's distinctly fond.

The anchorwoman continues, "And we have amateur video of what could have been a major incident."

In Tony's peripheral vision, Bruce winces. Thor switches his fork from his right hand to his left so he can sling his right arm around Bruce's shoulders, and the scientist shoots him a grateful look.

"As they were working together to move a window frame, Hawkeye lost his grip on the metal and dropped it directly on Bruce Banner's foot. However, the man did not lose his temper, which seems to be progress from the last time he was in New York City in 2010."

That's the last of the story on them, and Darcy mutes the TV as all eyes turn to Clint and Bruce.

Tony's the first to speak. "Clint, you totally did that on purpose, didn't you?"

Clint zips his lips, but Bruce leans into Thor's side, looking pleased.

It's a good way to end the day, and when some of the others begin heading towards their bedrooms for the night, Tony follows without any prompting.

* * *

**Comments, anyone?**


	3. Preparation

**I cannot say enough how completely wonderful dysprositos, my beta, is.**

* * *

The next day, Natasha spends most of the morning and well into the afternoon working with Darcy and Loki to finalize their argument for the mayor before hovering in the background while Darcy and Steve (who they have collectively decided would be the best spokespeople—Tony had only put up a token protest), phone the mayor.

He seems receptive to what they're proposing, and agrees to meet with them later in the week.

When they hang up, Darcy does a victory dance, grabbing Steve's hands and forcing him to twirl in a circle with her before he awkwardly pulls back.

Darcy lets him go and continues her dance alone, and Steve nods to Natasha and slips out of the room.

Pulling her phone out of her pocket, Natasha sends Clint a quick text: 'Something's up w/ Steve - check it out?'

A moment later, her phone buzzes, and she looks at the display; Clint's replied 'Sure.'

That taken care of, she waves to Darcy and goes to find Tony, to ask when they're supposed to leave.

Darcy calls, "Bye," at her back, and Natasha smiles. She's never sought out female companionship before, preferring males because she knew exactly where she stood with them, but she does like Darcy.

"JARVIS, where's Tony?" Natasha asks nothing in particular. Speaking to the ceiling, as Steve and occasionally Thor do, seems silly. The AI is not in the ceiling, nor a wall, nor the floor. He's all-around, and frankly Natasha suspects that he (and by extension Tony) prefer for others to not know the extent of JARVIS's reach and power.

Because, whatever it is, it's _impressive_.

"Mr. Stark is in his laboratory, Agent Romanoff," the AI replies. "Should I alert him that you are looking for him?"

"No thanks, I'll just head down there myself."

"As you wish."

That's another thing Natasha likes about JARVIS, she reflects as she takes the stairs up to Tony's lab. He knows the value of silence.

Natasha knocks lightly on the open door of Tony's glass-windowed workshop, but his music is blaring at such a high volume that he doesn't notice.

Rolling her neck to the side until it pops, Natasha slips over behind Tony and taps him on the shoulder.

She's not _really_ vindictive, but his reaction yesterday had been so amusing that she wants a repeat performance. And it really is his own damn fault for keeping the music at such an inhuman volume.

As she had predicted, he jumps, and a spastic flail of his hand sends the holographic document he was working on flying across the lab space to hover bemusedly above a pile of odds and ends.

"What the _fuck_, Natasha?" he whirls to confront her.

"Turn the music down and you won't have this problem, Stark. Now, what time are we supposed to leave tonight?"

"Tonight?" he seems lost for a moment before turning back around and digging through a pile of paper blueprints on his table.

He almost upends his mostly empty coffee mug, sitting on one corner of a particularly large sheet, and Natasha coolly steps around him and picks it up, setting it safely on another table out of the danger zone.

"Ah hah!" he exults, brandishing the invitation, almost hitting Natasha with it before she dodges to the side.

"When did you get over there? Never mind... It says the thing starts at six-thirty, so let's plan on leaving then, yeah? Fashionably late and all that. Now," he curls his fingers in the direction of the schematic he had sent flying across the room.

"Uh, no, Stark. We're leaving at six. We're supposed to be making a good impression on them, remember? Unless you want Darcy to remove your tongue with a rusty butter knife..."

That's not possible, Natasha knows, but she'd bet Stark doesn't, and if the way he goes white under his tan is any indication, she is correct.

"Okay, fine, six it is. I'll be there with bells on. Wait, scratch that, no bells. It's just... you know what I mean, don't you?"

"I'll send someone down to remind you at five." Natasha eyes him up and down, noting the streak of grease down the side of his face and the half-completed gauntlet lying on a nearby table as the likely cause. "You'll need a shower, for sure."

"Sure, fine, whatever. Now, I've got work to do, so unless you want to help me plan out," he squints at the design that he has managed to coax back within his reach, "'Captain America's Shield,' name in progress, prototypes, shoo."

"I think I'm good. But thanks for the offer. See you this evening. Oh, you've told your driver?"

She's sure as hell not walking through New York in high heels, and that's not really his style, either.

"I think so? Happy's in Malibu with Pep, but I've got someone else out here... Help me out, J?"

"Your driver has indeed been alerted, and will be at the back entrance at five fifty. Sir."

"Thanks, J, you're a pal."

Without saying anything else, Tony begins to dissect the floating diagram of what Natasha can now see is a smaller, commercial version of Steve's shield, digging into the backside where the straps are anchored, muttering something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like "fucking morons."

Taking that as her dismissal, Natasha heads back down the stairs, pulling out her phone as she goes.

Sending off a text to Clint ('Everything okay w/ Steve?'), she goes down to the common area. Thor and Bruce have gone back out today to assist with construction, and Steve had gone with them that morning but had come home at lunchtime to call the mayor with Darcy.

Clint had offered to help Darcy and Loki, saying that he didn't feel like going out, and nobody had argued with him.

But nobody's around when Natasha steps onto the sixty-seventh floor, and so she grabs a yogurt cup out of the fridge and hops onto the kitchen counter, swinging her legs as she pulls the top off and licks the inside of the foil, setting it to the side and then taking a bite.

Truthfully, she was a little surprised when Tony asked her to accompany him yesterday. He's always been a loner, and an event like this gala should be a piece of cake for him. He's been appeasing the public since before he could walk.

But he seems to want the company, and well, Natasha doesn't mind. She wonders why he didn't take one of the others, but then she realizes that he's still forging tentative bonds with them, maybe even having more trouble making friends than she has.

In her research for countless cover identities, she's read that children from wealthy families often do not have healthy social lives, and indeed many do not know how to properly make friends. Tony seems no exception to this.

And maybe their past acquaintance makes her an easier target than the others, although she would suspect that Stark's harboring a bit of an intellectual crush on Bruce.

But his new relationship with Thor is occupying a lot of his time, and Bruce seems wary, almost, of Stark. The engineer's cocky brashness is antithetical to how the quiet scientist seems to operate, and Stark may be picking up on that.

So it seems logical that Stark would look to create a friendship with her, but the situation he's putting them into is rather comparable to a date, although he may not realize that.

His relationship with Pepper Potts was never anything close to _normal_, Natasha knows. And it's not like he's had any other long-term relationships. He might just be unaware of dating protocol in the real world.

Or maybe he is aware, and the whole thing is some elaborate practical joke at her expense.

_Ugh_. There are too many possibilities, and Natasha is giving herself a headache trying to think through them all at the same time.

Her phone vibrates in her pocket, and she hops down from the counter, putting her used spoon in the sink and her non-recyclable (she checks) yogurt cup and lid in the trash.

Clint has texted her back, 'He won't say what's wrong. Got it under control tho.'

Clint will be able to handle the situation, and if he can't, then he's smart enough to call for backup, so Natasha closes the message without replying and checks the time on her phone.

She's got time to kill before she needs to start getting ready for the evening, so she goes downstairs and slips outside through the side entrance, heading towards where she knows Bruce and Thor were going to volunteer that morning.

There's a bit of a crowd around (_Good,_ she thinks, _better for me to hide_), and she joins the gawking throng, sliding carefully through to the front, lifting a hand to shade her eyes as she observes the worksite.

She can't see Bruce, his smaller stature making him harder to spot in a crowd of similarly attired volunteers, but Thor is easy enough to find, a blond ponytail sticking out the back of his hard hat.

Lingering a few minutes longer, she watches him work and then she spots Bruce, working by himself to sort something—she can't quite see what—but speaking to another volunteer who comes over to check his progress.

Satisfied that they're doing well, Natasha turns to return to the Tower, carefully extricating herself from the crowd.

It makes her feel better, that no one recognizes her, but she knows that this anonymity may be short-lived; Darcy's gotten her a slot on a talk show early next week, and Natasha's certain that she'll be photographed on Tony Stark's arm that evening.

And she doesn't know what she'll do then, without being able to step on the street without her face being known.

It's a loss of something she's always known, always held close.

Because for all she is striking, has memorable red hair, she's just another person to everyone. One of the reasons for the brightly colored hair is that people remember it, instead of the face.

But, for now, at this moment, Natasha is not recognized, and she consciously wrenches her train of thought away from dwelling on what will inevitably happen when her cover is blown, and she thinks about other things instead.

Such as the large crowd amassing outside a store half a block in front of her.

Rather than dealing with that, she takes the next turn, so that she can take the long way home.

She has forgotten until she is almost right on top of it, but Steve's favorite bakery is this way.

Checking her phone, she realizes that she has time, so she heads in, the bell over the door tinkling pleasantly as it shuts behind her.

"I'll be with you in a moment," the young woman behind the counter calls, wrapping up an order for the man in front of her.

Natasha stands a polite distance back and waits, not needing to browse, knowing what she is going to purchase.

Soon, the guy's purchases are wrapped up and he's paid, nodding to Natasha as he heads out the door, and Natasha steps forward.

"What can I get you?" the woman smiles, friendly.

"A half dozen snickerdoodles, and a blondie, please," Natasha responds. The cookies are for Steve, and the blondie for Clint. He really has the oddest taste in food at times, but whenever she says that to him, he manages to mention pirozhki and she has to shut up.

"Sure thing," the employee replies as she wraps it all up.

Natasha stoops to pull the twenty dollar bill she always keeps in her sock for emergencies out to pay (and this isn't really an 'emergency,' per say, but Natasha has more money sitting in a savings account than she would be able to spend in two lifetimes), and when she stands back up, the young woman is beckoning her to the cash register.

She smooths out the bill and hands it over, smiling apologetically.

The employee merely laughs and says, "You're far from the first one I've seen do that." And then handing over Natasha's change and the small box, she finishes with a wink, "Ms. Rushman."

Natasha's mouth actually falls open briefly, but she shuts it with a snap and drops the whole amount of her change into the tip jar on the counter.

"Have a nice day!" the young woman calls after her as she exits the shop.

That was...unexpected, but not unpleasant. Not at all.

And so she's smiling as she heads back to the Tower, bakery box held in one hand.

* * *

Natasha takes the stairs up, and as she climbs she asks, "JARVIS, where are Steve and Clint?"

"Captain Rogers and Agent Barton are in the gym on the fiftieth floor, Agent Romanoff. Should I tell them that you are looking for them?"

"No, that's okay. Thanks."

She continues up the stairs and heads to Clint's room, dropping the box on his bed and pulling out her phone to text him.

'Surprise on your bed.'

She doesn't expect a response; he usually leaves his phone in the locker room when he's in the gym.

Returning to her room, she pulls off her tennis shoes and lets her hair out of its loose ponytail, preparing to jump in the shower.

* * *

She's drying her hair in front of the bathroom mirror when Darcy comes in, carrying a clipboard she's managed to acquire from somewhere.

"Hey, Nat, your phone's on your bed and it's beeping," Darcy calls over the sound of the hair dryer.

Natasha runs the brush through her hair one more time and then, judging it dry, shuts off the noisy machine.

"Hand it to me, please," she requests.

Darcy does and then props a hip on the bathroom door frame, running a finger down whatever she has on her clipboard, waiting for Natasha to finish.

Clint's texted her a smiley face, and she takes that to mean that her gift has gone over well with Steve.

"Everything okay?" Darcy asks after a minute.

"Yeah, it's just Clint. Did you need something?"

"I just wanted to check that you're going with Tony tonight, but it looks like I can answer that without asking."

"Yeah. Somebody's got to keep an eye on him, right?"

With a few efficient moves, Natasha has her hair twisted up onto the back of her head, and she sticks a handful of bobby pins in her mouth as she begins to secure it in place.

"I think Tony can probably handle himself, but whatever," Darcy smiles. "Guess I'd better get out of your way then."

But she looks rather wistful, so Natasha forces out around the pins, "Wanna stay for a while?"

"You don't mind?" Darcy replies, uncertain.

Natasha waves a dismissive hand and then finishes her hair, turning her head from side to side and inspecting the final product.

She's dressing a bit more conservatively than the style she usually would prefer, out of respect for the occasion.

Darcy goes to put her clipboard down on the bed, and she sees Natasha's dress hanging on the front of the closet. It's dark red, almost burgundy, and long, coming past her knee before flaring out. The top reveals her collarbone but no cleavage, but the dress is fitted enough that Natasha will have freedom of movement.

"Is that what you're wearing?" Darcy calls over her shoulder. "It's so pretty."

"Yes, that's my dress. And thanks. It was a prop for a mission a while back, and I liked it, so I kept it."

Natasha tucks the extra hair materials into the drawer and pulls out her cosmetics and mirror, taking a seat on her vanity stool.

Darcy's being a bit more clingy than usual; while Natasha would say they were friendly, she doesn't believe that most females their age would have this sort of interaction after only knowing each other a short time.

But she doesn't really know. Besides Maria Hill and a few other female agents, Natasha's never really had a female friend before.

Darcy walks around her room, looking at Natasha's book collection and the framed picture she has leaning against her chest of drawers, having not yet had the time to hang it on the wall.

Running a finger over the spine of a few books, Darcy sees one that catches her interest, "Is that a first edition?"

"What is it?" Natasha calls back, skillfully applying mascara.

"_Anna Karenina_," Darcy breathes, reverent.

"Oh, yes, it is. I found it at a flea market the last time I was in Russia, actually. You can look at it, if you want. It's in pretty good condition."

"Really? Thanks."

Natasha can see Darcy picking it up out of the corner of her eye, and the room is quiet for a moment as Darcy flips through it. It's definitely a little clichéd, for her to own many of the Russian classics, but she had never actually had the time to read them until defecting to SHIELD, and even now she's still working through them.

Darcy replaces it on the bookshelf, and Natasha pauses, brush held in midair, as she asks, "What time is it?"

Consulting her phone, Darcy answers, "Just about five, why?"

"I promised Tony a reminder, otherwise we'll have to go excavate him and then I'll have to wait while he primps. Would you mind going?"

"Sure, no problem. He's in his lab, right?"

"Uh huh."

"Okay, then. Hey, come find me before you go, I wanna see you in that dress."

"I can do that," Natasha smiles.

Darcy picks up her clipboard and leaves, and Natasha finishes up in the bathroom, humming softly under her breath.

* * *

Natasha, dressed and ready, a pistol strapped to a thigh and an extra clip in her clutch, and three knives strapped to her person as well, knocks at the door of Clint's room.

He pokes his head out and whistles lowly, opening it up and gesturing for her to step in.

"No, I need to go. Just wanted to say bye, and don't burn the Tower down without me."

"Sure thing, Nat. I'll save all acts of arson for you, geez, you know that. Have a good time."

Trying not to sound too morose, she says, "I'll do my best."

She turns down the hall, and because of her heels, pushes the elevator button rather than taking the stairs. Three-inch monsters are not meant for over seventy flights of stairs. As she waits, she asks JARVIS, "Where's Darcy?"

"Ms. Lewis is on the sixty-seventh floor with Master Loki, watching a film."

"And Tony?"

"Mr. Stark is finishing preparations in his room; he should be ready momentarily, Agent Romanoff."

"Thanks."

She heads down to the common floor and does a twirl for Darcy, who pauses the movie and claps.

Loki, hesitantly, says, "You look lovely, Natasha."

"Thanks, Loki. I'll see you later, have a good evening," Natasha replies as she turns to leave.

She takes the elevator down to wait for Tony, and runs a hand nervously over her skirt before giving herself a mental shake.

They're two friends going out for an evening, that's all, and she knows she looks damn good.

But the fact that Tony's jaw drops as he steps off the elevator a moment later doesn't hurt, either.

"Damn, Natasha," he says, and she smirks.

"Took you long enough, Stark. Ready?"

She doesn't want to let him know that she appreciates the compliment; she's the Black Widow, she's used to people being impressed by her.

"As I'll ever be. Shall we?" he motions for her to head outside and she goes through the door, and nods to the chauffeur who opens the car door for her.

Tony slides in next to her and as the car starts up, he looks at her seriously. "Now, let's quit with this 'Stark' business. You can call me Tony, I've heard you say that. And that was a dirty trick, sending Lewis in to roust me like you did. She brought her goddamn taser!"

Natasha laughs once, and then says, "Well, Tony, you _had_ forgotten the time, hadn't you?"

"Yeah. Okay, fine, maybe I deserved to be ousted from my lab at taser point. But she barely even let me save what I was working on!"

Natasha just gives him a flat look and he relents, leaning back and crossing his legs.

After a few moments, she asks, "Have you been to one of these before?"

He sighs, "It's Mom's charity, so yeah, I've been to a few. But not since Afghanistan, there were always more important things that needed doing, and coming to one of these sober, it just..."

She can understand the pain of raw memories.

He rallies, "But they're always pretty cool. I mean, they're still mostly Mom's old friends, and shit, so they may have some embarrassing stories about me to tell. So you'll get _some_ entertainment out of the evening, at least."

"Damn, I forgot my recorder!" Natasha exclaims, and Tony laughs, the tension disappearing from his shoulders.

They banter back and forth until the limousine draws to a stop in front of a building with an impressive facade.

"Time to face the music," Tony says, and grabs her elbow to steady her as she steps out.

She doesn't really need the assistance, but she doesn't mind either. As he follows her out, his grip morphs to where she is holding his arm. It's a complicated maneuver, but he does it smoothly, and thinking about that, she's unaware of the sea of people between them and the door until she looks up.

In an undertone, Tony offers, "I'm gonna go do a few interviews. You can come with me, or you can head on in, whatever."

Natasha squares her shoulders, dropping her hand from his arm, and answers, "I can do one better than that. See you inside, Tony."

She steps forward, neatly dodging the first woman to thrust a microphone in her face, not wanting to speak with such a pushy reporter.

The second woman she encounters hangs back a bit and allows Natasha to approach her, which she appreciates.

The camera is pointed at them, and the woman introduces herself and the TV station she represents, and asks, "You're Natalie Rushman, the Black Widow, correct?"

"I am."

"And what are you doing here tonight? I didn't think this was exactly what your job entailed."

"I'm attending as Tony Stark's guest, and my job entails many things. Many are classified, but public liasoning is something I've had training in. And I can tell you about that," she winks.

The woman laughs lightly, and then Natasha nods and moves on.

The next reporter she speaks to, a man, follows a similar script, but he asks if she and Tony are dating, to which she laughs and replies, "He wishes."

After she moves on from him, she notices him darting to where Tony is surrounded by a cluster of reporters, and she winces internally, regretting putting him in that situation.

But she keeps going, speaking to a few more people before finally making it inside the building, where she breathes a sigh of relief.

Now, she is in familiar territory, and she knows how she is expected to behave perfectly well.

After a moment, Tony sweeps in and takes her over to introduce their hosts, and Natasha stands up straight and smiles.

It's not her favorite thing to do in the world, but she can certainly put a good face on and _act_ like she's enjoying herself.

And after a while, she really is.

* * *

**It should be said that I have no idea if it's possible to get from Point A to Point B in New York City in 30 minutes, even if one _is_ Tony Fucking Stark. But I am very proud of my ability to walk down stairs while texting, and it only seemed fair that Natasha possessed this ability as well.**

**Reviews are always welcome!**


	4. What the Hell?

**My beta, dysprositos, is the best ever for putting up with my shit. Thanks, beta buddy.**

* * *

As Tony introduces Natasha to their hosts, he can't help but sneak peeks at her.

She looks stunning tonight; there's something about the way the dark red dress _should_ clash with her hair but it doesn't, and when the actual fuck did Tony start noticing that kind of shit?

With that thought playing in the background of his mind, he moves on, leaving Natasha to socialize by herself. She's a big girl, and she's already proven she can handle it.

First things first, he finds the table they have not-so-discreetly set up for donations (things were done differently in Mom's day, for sure) and writes a nice-sized check.

Then, tucking his checkbook back into his suit jacket, he goes over to the refreshments table. Remembering Darcy's warning, he takes a cup of the non-alcoholic punch and takes a short sip first to make sure it hasn't been spiked.

Hey, kids these days, you never know.

It's something _he_ would have done.

But anyway, it has not been spiked, so Tony carries his cup over to schmooze with a cluster of people who look like they could use some spice in their conversation.

And that's pretty much how his night goes; he talks to people, they're shocked by him (you'd think people would have realized that half the shit he says is because he knows it will get under their skin and maybe they should quit treating everything he says as fact), and after the seventh time he's asked (usually by a bright-eyed whippersnapper) 'what's it like living with [fill in the blank]' he _has_ to grab a cup of alcoholic punch for the sake of his sanity, but he limits himself to just one.

See? He's being good.

He _can_ be good.

And there he is being morbid again—oh, look, there's Natasha. She seems uncomfortable. Tony can do something about that.

He slings an arm around her shoulders and she allows this for a moment before a well-placed elbow in his ribs encourages him to keep his limbs to himself.

He takes her conversation with the older woman (rich judging by her jewelry; someone he's seen before but can't be bothered to remember) and neatly wraps it up, gently taking Natasha's elbow to steer her away, almost gingerly (because now his side _really fucking hurts_), and she lets him.

The rest of the evening passes in a blur, and Tony's worn out when he slides into the limo ahead of Natasha, who also seems exhausted.

She fastens her seatbelt and slumps into the seat, cracking her neck sharply before putting her head on his shoulder.

"Wake me when we're home," she orders, and then she's out.

Well, at least as far as he can tell. He's never had anyone treat him like this before; there's never been anyone willing to get this far into his personal space carelessly and not ask for permission, just _do_ and disregard the consequences.

Even Pepper only touched him when she wanted something.

But Natasha just _does_.

And somehow, Tony doesn't mind. Not at all.

* * *

Tony groans, rolling over in his bed the next morning.

His head is pounding from all the attention he had focused outward the previous night, trying his best to make sure that he didn't fuck up. Things always were a little scrambled after a night like that, even if he'd been (well, mostly) sober.

"Time's it?" he moans, throwing an arm over his eyes to block out the light. JARVIS is letting it in gradually, but it still stabs behind his eyes painfully.

"It is eight thirteen, sir, and you may want to see this." JARVIS sounds a little hesitant. Added to the fact he's assaulting Tony with, well, whatever this is first thing in the morning, it doesn't bode well. Tony pushes himself up, squinting as his eyes adjust.

"These are the newspaper headlines for this morning, sir," JARVIS offers, projecting a list.

Opening his eyes all the way, Tony reads: _'Tony Stark and Natalie Rushman Dating?'_

'_The Black Widow a Widow No More?' _(_okay, that one is just terrible_, Tony thinks)

'_Stark over Potts?: Her Side of the Story.'_ (that one's a raging fake—oh, it's a tabloid, that explains it.)

And then finally, one that makes some sort of sense: _'Avengers Stark and Rushman Attend Charity Gala Together: Just Friends or More?'_

"Shit."

"While I would not describe this situation in terms of excrement, sir, I believe that your summation begins to cover this. Perhaps you made a miscalculation in inviting Agent Romanoff last night."

"No, no, she had a good time. I think. I'm pretty sure. And it was good to have her there. It's just, I mean, J, why the hell are they saying we're dating?"

And maybe he's whining a little, but this is so _stupid_. And Tony is the Motherfucking _King_ of Stupid; he _knows_ stupid.

"To be fair, sir, these are only the headlines that pertain to the two of you. For instance, there's a _lovely _article in which the author speculates just how large of a donation you made last night. Complete with quotes from an 'inside source' that verify your generosity. But I thought these were of more importance than those. If I was mistaken, I can switch the view..."

"No, you're right. You're _always_ right." Tony inhales sharply, then continues, "But I _said _we weren't dating, and I heard her say that, too. We just went out for an evening. I don't understand."

"Sir, many high-profile figures who make appearances together as you did deny romantic relationships. When in fact many of them are involved."

"But I don't get it, J! It _wasn't a date._"

"Sir. Based on other people's behavior and the expectations of society, you and Agent Romanoff _did _go on a date."

"Huh." Well, Tony's never pretended to understand other people. That's why he makes robots. They're simple, easy to understand, and they aren't so damn unpredictable and irrational.

_Hold on. Fuck. What does Romanoff think about all this? Is she going to disembowel me?_

"J, has Natasha seen this yet?"

"Agent Romanoff is still asleep, sir."

_Whew. Okay, now, I need to tell her. But nicely. Maybe I should make breakfast? Yes, breakfast sounds good._

And so that is how Tony finds himself standing outside Barton's door fifteen minutes later, knocking. JARVIS has said the archer is awake, so Tony thinks it's okay for him to be here.

Damn it, it's his building anyway.

Barton opens the door. "Stark."

"Barton."

They stare at each other for a minute before Barton rolls his eyes and breaks the silence.

"Can I help you? I do have...things to do, you know. That don't involve random staring contests, as much fun as this is."

"I just... I fucked up, Barton. It's all over the media that Romanoff and I are dating, and I don't want her to kill me because _it's not my fault, damn it_. So you know what she likes to eat, right? I'll make her breakfast and maybe then I'll live to see tomorrow because she'll be too busy eating to kill me."

Clint positively howls, throwing his head back and clutching the door frame.

"Glad you think my imminent death is funny, Barton. Some teammate you are."

"She likes french toast and fruit salad, Stark. See you later. If you live." And with that Barton steps back and shuts the door.

Tony can still hear him chuckling.

_Okay, I can do this._

* * *

Thirty minutes later, he's burned three pieces of french toast, almost sliced off a finger while chopping fruit, and consumed three cups of coffee in the process, but he's got a plate of edible french toast and a bowl of fruit salad, along with a cup of coffee, black, the way Natasha likes it.

JARVIS directs him to a tray ("What the fuck, how do I not know where shit is in my own goddamn kitchen?"), and Tony heads for the elevator, going up to Natasha's room.

She's awake, apparently, and he attempts to balance the tray on one arm so he can knock on the door before giving up, "J, just tell her I'm here."

"Certainly, sir." The AI pauses, then adds, "Sir, you may wish to step back from the door; there is a high probability that Agent Romanoff will upset the tray as she opens the door if you remain in your current position."

"You're a lifesaver, man."

Tony takes the step back just in time, as Natasha opens the door, "What, Stark?"

"I just... Can I come in?"

"Why the hell not?" But she steps back and allows him to enter.

Tony carefully carries the tray over to her coffee table and then turns to face her.

She's got a skeptical eyebrow raised. "You trying to poison me, Stark? It's too early for this."

"No, no, I mean, uh..."

"Spit it out already." She rolls her eyes, "I'm not going to bite."

"Welltheykinda thinkwe'redating. Yeah."

"I didn't quite catch that, what?"

"Ugh, J, just show her."

JARVIS projects the same list he showed Tony earlier, although there have been a couple of additions since (_'Love in the Air in Stark Tower?'_ and _'Tony Stark Has a Type: Red-headed Women Beware.'_).

Natasha scans the headlines and then looks at Tony (who is totally _not_ cowering, nuh uh). "So?"

"You mean you're not going to kill me?"

"Why would I? Unless you _told_ them that we were dating," she takes a threatening step forward.

"_No!_ I said we weren't, that you had graciously agreed to accompany me to the charity thing last night. But that was it."

"I don't see the big deal then, Stark. We're adults, or at least I am, and we both know we're not dating. And the rest of the team knows it too. But thanks for the apology breakfast; how did you know I liked french toast?" She moves to sit cross-legged on the floor next to the coffee table, picking up her fork.

"I asked Barton," Tony relaxes now that he knows his life isn't in imminent danger, slumping back against the wall.

She laughs. "Bet he was thrilled to help."

"At least he told me the truth," Tony replies. He doesn't really know what to say now, he's done what he came to do, and he should probably get out of her personal space.

Yeah. That.

"So I'm just gonna go," he starts heading for the door. "Glad you're not plotting my death."

She rolls her eyes again as she takes another bite of french toast. "Didn't know you could cook, Stark. You're gonna have to take kitchen duty more often."

"Actually, I burned a batch beforehand. So I'm not all that great. Bye."

He closes the door behind him and heads back to his lab, needing to see what idiocy Barnwell's merchandise planning team has come up with overnight.

Who's doing the hiring for his company these days, seriously?

* * *

_It was a fairly normal day, the lawyers were still working on getting Bruce (and by extension Darcy) back into the country, but there was little more Tony could do to assist. __They had made that very clear._

_And that was why he was moping around the kitchen when Steve came in._

_The supersoldier fixed himself a sandwich and asked, "You want one?"_

"_Sure," Tony replied,__ never one to pass up food if someone else was making it__._

_They sat at the kitchen table with their sandwiches, with absolutely nothing to say to each other._

_Until Steve made an attempt, "I was going to head down to the gym after this and work out; you want to come?"_

"_I doubt I could keep up with you, but thanks anyway, Ca-Steve."_

_Steve's mouth twisted downward at Tony's slip and he began to berate himself,_ stupid, he's said he doesn't like to be called that_!_

_To attempt to prevent this from happening in future, Tony inquired, "Is there anything you don't mind being called as a nickname?"_

"_Why isn't 'Steve' good enough?"_

"_Because it's already a nickname, I mean, your name is Steven, right?"_

_The supersoldier nodded, unsure of where Tony was going with this._

"_And nicknames are a sign of affection and friendship and all that shit. Uh, if you'd really hate a nickname we don't have to come up with one for you."_

_Steve sighed. "No, I suppose I wouldn't mind one. Just... not 'Cap,' okay?"_

"_Sure, whatever you say."_

_Tony was quiet for a minute, trying to think of a nickname that didn't originate from Steve's superhero handle._

_He was unsuccessful. So he offered, "How about 'dude?' That's pretty common, I mean, it doesn't have anything to do with your hero name."_

_Steve smiled, "I like it. And you know, you don't have to keep up with me in the gym. We could train separately. Or we could spar; I don't know how good the suit is in close-quarter combat..."_

"_As a whole, it's too inflexible, but I can put it on only in parts and that might work," Tony answered, his mind racing to think of how this could play out._

_He wouldn't deny that sparring with Steve __intrigued__ him; he hadn't had a workout partner since Happy went back to Malibu with... _

_Yeah, __so __not going there._

_Anyway. "Give me about ten minutes, and I should be ready. Meet you down there?"_

_Steve grinned back, anticipating the challenge, "Bring your A game, Stark, you're going to need it."_

"_You'd better be worried, dude," Tony tried out the nickname for the first time._

_And then he headed to pull on pieces of the Mark VI that he'd disassembled to use as scrap after it was totaled when he was repairing the Helicarrier's engine._

_Tony took a few rounds to adjust to the suit's limitations, but he was soon able to block Steve's blows and return a few of his own, and they appeared well-matched._

_At the end, Tony __removed__ his gauntlet and shook Steve's hand, and it seemed to be a good start to a friendship._

* * *

Rather surprisingly, Barnwell's team has assembled a decent portfolio, including most of Tony's design suggestions (and he's mature enough to not kick up a fuss and insist that they include all of them), and he flicks through the 'pages' quickly before signing off on them and sending Barnwell a note of congratulations (well, he tells JARVIS to; it's the same thing).

Just after he's sent that, Steve sticks his head in the lab for a moment, wanting to let Tony know that he's heading out, and that Clint, Thor, and Bruce had left earlier.

He finishes with, "You want to come with us?"

"Nah," Tony answers. "I'm right in the middle of an update, dude, and I don't know how much help I'd be without the suit."

Steve seems skeptical of that, but he knows better than to push Tony, and so he leaves with a wave over his shoulder.

Now, Tony has nothing else constructive to do, and he's already told Steve about the update, so God knows he will be nagged about it later if he doesn't make some progress, so he picks up the gauntlet he'd started modifying yesterday, but the updates quickly lose his interest.

He walks around the lab, picking up random objects and just thinking. On his second circuit, it hits him.

That last night _had_ been fun.

And he wouldn't mind doing it again.

With Natasha. Like...a date. For real this time, one where they both knew it was a date.

_Damn_. Tony loves Pepper. Or, Tony _loved _Pepper.

And he'd thought he was still licking his wounds over that. After all, it hadn't been long since she'd told him that she was leaving and he'd sat awake the whole evening running her words through his mind.

But he likes Natasha. She's intelligent, and she doesn't take his shit, and she's beautiful, too.

That description sounds like Pepper, though. Was that reporter right? _D__oes_ Tony have a type?

Because it wouldn't be fair to Natasha to use her as a rebound. And Tony's kind of shocked at himself, that he would realize that.

Maybe he's growing up.

Ugh, perish the thought.

But seriously, though, Tony really can't ask Natasha out unless he's over Pepper. But how does he get over Pepper?

At this point, he's got more questions than answers, and so he walks briskly out of his lab, seeking a distraction.

And because the universe hates him, as soon as he steps off the elevator onto the common floor, he sees Natasha.

She's sitting on the couch with Loki and Darcy, talking.

Before he can back out of the room and go somewhere else, though, Darcy notices him.

"Hey, Tony, come on in. We were just about to ask JARVIS to send you down, actually."

He cautiously enters the room, carefully only keeping his eyes on Darcy and Loki, not looking at Natasha. Because if he looks at her for too long, he's just going to wind up blurting out something moronic. His brain-to-mouth filter has never really been the best, and he doesn't want to try it out now.

"What did you need me for?" _Smooth, Stark, real smooth_. But it's better than nothing, or something totally embarrassing.

"We're just finalizing the details of the meeting with the mayor tomorrow. Loki really wants to go, but I'm not so sure that's a good idea..." she trails off and Loki shifts self-consciously next to her.

That's something Tony can work out, and he hums as he formulates a plan in his head. "Well, I can go, wait, that's in your plan, right? Me going?"

"We want to take the team, and last time I checked that included you, Stark," Darcy snipes.

Tony decides he's just going to let that one slide. He says, "So I can bring the suitcase armor. And if everyone is going, I don't see how that should be a problem. I mean, you think _Steve's_ going to let something happen to Loki on his watch? Like hell. Much less Thor. I mean, Jesus, have you seen those biceps?"

"You have a good point," Natasha agrees. "We're all going to be armed, or at least I will be, and I can't imagine anyone stupid enough to mess with the eight of us in broad daylight."

"Thor is most adamant that I am safe here," Loki offers. "I'm sure that he'll want me to get out of the Tower if possible. I'm beginning to feel like Rapunzel. Although perhaps without the hair...that would be Thor's specialty, I think."

"Who taught you pop culture?" Tony asks, because he's noticed that about Loki and he's been dying to know where he gets it for days.

"Guilty," Darcy shrugs. "So that should be okay, I guess. Just, Loki, I hate to say this, but you're gonna have to try and be as, um, unintimidating as possible, m'kay?"

"If it means I can attend this meeting, certainly."

"Okay, that's settled," Tony declares, ready to leave the room. "Do you need anything else?"

"We're having dinner together tonight, Stark," Natasha informs him. "And you're helping me cook."

Tony salutes sharply, turns on his heel, and leaves the room.

* * *

_They'd just sent Thor and Loki (__who they later realized was __Larry) off to Asgard, and Natasha and Tony had driven back to the Tower together._

_Somehow, Tony had managed to convince the others to come stay with him in his Tower, at least temporarily, and that was where the five of them were headed then._

_Well, they _would_ be, if Steve, Clint, and Bruce managed to get their asses in gear. They hadn't even been in their car when Tony and Natasha had driven past them on their way out of the parking lot._

_The ride back was largely quiet, Natasha intimidating Tony enough that he d__idn't__ attempt any of his usual car behaviors (changing the radio station every five seconds and complaining loudly about the lack of 'good' music, for one). She__'d__ stabbed him in the neck __once, after all,__ and he was still unconvinced that whatever she'd stuck him with was beneficial._

_Sneaky triple agent._

_So he behaved himself until the quiet got to be too much, and thoughts of Pepper's departure began to creep in._

_Then, rather __plaintively__, he asked, "Distract me?"_

"_How, Stark?"_

"_I dunno, just do it. Please."_

"_Well, I suppose they're going to have a lot of work to do to clean up the city. We kind of trashed it, although Loki and his little army didn't help."_

"_I should've just let the bomb hit, then we wouldn't have this problem."_

"_You shouldn't say shit like that, someone might think you actually mean it." She paused, and then added, "But I'm glad you got back okay, Stark. You're not so terrible."_

_And coming from her, that was a compliment of the highest order._

_They'd managed civil conversation until they got back to the Tower, where they headed up to the communal kitchen and started cooking dinner. Natasha put herself on vegetable-chopping duty, while Tony got to slave over the stove._

_But it kept his mind off things, and he was grateful for the distraction._

* * *

Tony retreats back to his workshop, where he forces himself to focus on the gauntlet he had started working on the day before.

And after that gauntlet, he moves onto the next one. Then the boots. Then he starts on the chestplate, and he's standing on his tiptoes, stretching to adjust it, when the door opens and Natasha walks in.

Tony, of course, promptly stumbles.

"Jesus, Stark, you okay? I even made noise this time."

All he can come up with is a weak, "I thought I told you to call me Tony."

"Well, then, _Tony_, it's time for us to go start on dinner. Coming?"

"Sure thing," he puts his tools on the table and wipes his hands on his shirt. They're still pretty greasy, though, so he adds, "Just let me wash my hands. And get another shirt. Wouldn't want to get this shit in dinner. Can't imagine it's too appetizing."

She shrugs. "See you in a minute, then."

The door closes behind her and Tony throws his hands in the air in exasperation and goes to the industrial sink in the corner, tugging his tank top over his head on the way and throwing it in the direction of the door.

He'll pick it up later.

After his hands are clean, even under his nails, he digs a clean t-shirt out of a drawer and heads for the elevator.

* * *

In the kitchen, Natasha already has music on, classic rock, and Tony can't really complain about that.

He does what he's told, chopping up broccoli to add to the chicken she has cooking on the stove and then buttering rolls and sliding them into the toaster oven.

She's stirring the chicken and broccoli mixture, keeping an eye on the pasta cooking next to it, and nodding her head slightly to the beat, and Tony can't help but think she's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

And then he slaps himself lightly on the wrist and goes out to set the table because he does _not_ need to be having thoughts like that, not until he's over Pepper.

But he still doesn't know how exactly one gets over an ex-girlfriend.

He'll have to ask JARVIS later.

Thor, Bruce, Steve, and Clint come in dirty and tired from their volunteer work just as Tony is finishing carrying out the drinks, and rather than go back and get under Natasha's feet, Tony strikes up conversation with them, listening to them talk about what's being done to clean up.

And when Bruce invites Tony to come with them tomorrow, Tony even remembers that they're supposed to go see the mayor then, but he makes plans with Bruce to go in the next couple of days, remembering his earlier conversation with Steve, and the supersoldier smiles tiredly in approval.

* * *

**Comments?**


	5. Confrontational

**My fantastic beta, dysprositos, makes things funny and tells me when I'm being unclear. Which is often.**

* * *

"Well, that went well," Darcy exclaims, tucking her arm through Loki's as they step out onto the street in front of the mayor's office.

The group forms a loose circle around them, and Natasha notices the movement, but she sees no reason not to join them in their protectiveness.

They've just finished speaking with the mayor, presenting a proposal that Natasha had worked on with Darcy and Loki for a few days (and hadn't let Darcy title '101 Reasons Why Loki isn't a Bad Guy'). And he has agreed to support them, albeit cautiously.

Which means that if he's asked about them (which he's obviously going to be at _some_ point, the question is _when_), he'll say nice things. Only after he's asked; he's not volunteering the information.

But that's better than what they had yesterday, and he _had_ agreed that Loki has rights as a resident alien (literally) in New York, and that he should be allowed to travel around the city. Although Loki should probably avoid dark alleys and angry people.

And anywhere else he might conceivably get jumped. Because the support of the city's leader doesn't necessarily equal the support of all of its inhabitants. Which is why they're keeping Loki in the middle of their group, Natasha knows, because she (and none of the others) wouldn't put it past some disgruntled citizen—perhaps one who lost family in the attack—to take a shot at him.

Not that their anger wouldn't be justified, but they would be aggressing against the wrong target, and the sooner people realize that Loki's not who they should be blaming, the better, in her opinion.

They travel down the sidewalk in a group for a moment before Darcy speaks up again, "We need to celebrate! Ice cream, anyone?"

"Whatever," Tony remarks from behind his sunglasses (even though it's a cloudy day). "Guess if I have to spend time with you plebeians, I might as well be eating."

"Please, Stark, like you have any room to talk. I am a prince, after all," Loki retorts, sniffing exaggeratedly.

"Brother," Thor groans. "I thought you were going to act politely today."

"Yeah, Loki," Darcy chimes in, "You're supposed to be 'unintimidating,' remember?"

"Oh, yes," Loki responds. "How's this?"

He slouches (if Natasha hadn't seen the drop in his height, she wouldn't have realized that he _is_ taller than he currently appears) and pulls his arm gently away from Darcy, placing his hands carefully where they can be easily seen. His stride shortens, and Steve almost runs right into his back before he pulls up.

Darcy looks him up and down appraisingly, "That's better. What do you think, Nat?"

"I agree, Loki, you seem less...haughty now. More...ordinary."

"My brother is hardly 'ordinary,' Natasha," Thor defends, "But I can see your point. He needs to make friends, not enemies, among the inhabitants of New York."

Loki's shoulders slump in, and he's visibly making an effort to not snark back, but he manages to control his instinctive reaction.

"Ice cream sounds good, Darcy," Clint pipes up. "Did you have any place in mind?"

"I don't, I guess. I was just planning on kind of heading home and looking for a place on the way, ya know? I don't know the city very well; I've only been here a few days. Unless any of you guys has an idea?"

Steve, who has dropped back a few steps after almost running into Loki, steps forward to stand next to Tony. By this point, their whole group has stopped walking and is blocking a good part of the sidewalk as they deliberate, and Steve attempts to unobtrusively nudge Tony out of the way of the other pedestrians.

Thor sees what Steve's doing and takes Bruce's elbow to move him, and Natasha and Clint, who were closest to the wall, move over to give their team some room.

At last they're out of people's way to Steve's satisfaction, and Darcy's got her arms crossed over her chest impatiently but the bright smile on her face belies her pretend irritation.

"We gonna huddle here for the foreseeable future or does anyone want to go get ice cream?"

Bruce indicates himself and Thor. "We went to a pretty good place the other night. I don't think it was too far from here, was it, Thor?"

"No, it should be a short ways in that direction if I remember correctly," Thor says, jerking a thumb over his shoulder in a very 'Midgardian' move that Natasha wonders where he picked up.

"Okay, then, let's go!" Darcy cries, bouncing excitedly on her tiptoes. Natasha doesn't understand how she can swing from one mood to another so suddenly and never seem to be affected by the abrupt changes.

Women are strange.

But anyway, Thor sidesteps a pedestrian and Clint to take the lead, as they head for ice cream.

Moving through the crowd, most people step out of Thor's way pretty damn fast, but a few gawk off to the side, and Natasha notices some not-so-discreet shadows. Still, no one approaches them directly.

But then a child, well, a teenager, really, comes barreling down the sidewalk on her skateboard, with headphones on, not looking where she's going. Thor dodges her easily enough, and Clint and Tony aren't in her way, but she's heading directly for Loki and Darcy. They can't move—they're hemmed in on both sides—but Loki steps in front of Darcy and braces himself, letting the kid smack into his chest.

Before the girl can fall to the ground (Natasha thinks she deserves a bruise for being so careless and just downright _rude_), Loki catches her carefully, steadying her and then bending down to pick up her skateboard and handing it to her. "Perhaps you should carry this from now on," he suggests evenly, with a small frown.

She rolls her eyes and pushes around him, dropping the board to the ground and pushing off again, but the crowd around them has started to whisper, sending pointed looks in Loki's direction.

"Thanks, Loki," Darcy comments lowly.

"Are you hurt, brother?" Thor asks.

"Just startled, that's all," Loki answers. "But I do think some ice cream sounds lovely. Can we begin moving again?"

Thor resumes walking, and Bruce slips around Tony to walk next to Loki. "That was a good move, I think, Loki."

Their relationship is interesting, Natasha thinks. Loki seems to genuinely like Bruce, but is still skeptical of his relationship with Thor. Bruce, though, is just trying his best to get in good with Loki.

Truthfully, it's rather amusing.

But Loki looks down at Bruce kindly, and asks, "Are the children here always like that?"

Bruce laughs, "Some of them are. Especially the ones who are old enough to know better. But I've met a few really good ones." His smile turns rueful and Natasha knows he's thinking about the little girl in Calcutta.

"That's enough of this shit," Tony declares, stepping up and throwing an arm around Bruce's shoulders. "The kid was a brat and Loki handled it well and it's all over now. I'm hungry. We almost there, big guy?"

His energy is catching, as the whole group seems to speed up their walking, Natasha included.

But something about it feels...forced.

* * *

Within a few minutes, they've arrived at the small ice cream shop, and Thor slings an arm over Loki's shoulders to discuss what his brother should order (and Thor still hasn't quite gotten the hang of an inside voice yet...wait, he's doing it on purpose, Natasha realizes. Damn, who knew _Thor_ could be sneaky?).

Everyone else puts in their orders, and Tony steps up to pay. Interestingly, he doesn't snark at anyone, not a team member, not even the teenager ringing up their order.

Darcy moves next to Tony and asks the cashier politely, "Do you mind if we move a few tables together?"

The employee replies, "Not if you put them back when you're done."

"Sure thing!" Darcy beams at him, and then she turns to Steve. "C'mon, Muscles, let's get some use out of your fancy workout routine."

Steve allows her to lead him over to a few unoccupied tables, and Bruce drifts over after them. Together, the three of them move the chairs around and slide a few tables together.

Tony finishes paying and accepts his ice cream without comment. That's quite uncharacteristic, and Natasha either needs to talk to him later or send someone else (read: Steve) to do it. But she knows better than to do it out here. He would shut down faster than she could blink if confronted in public.

Already the shop is twice as busy as when they came in, people using a sudden ice cream craving as a way to not-so-clandestinely observe their group, and they can't afford to show discord within their ranks. Not now.

So Natasha makes sure she's smiling as she steps up and takes her ice cream cone and then Darcy's from the employee. Thor picks up Bruce's, and Clint rolls his eyes but takes Steve's, and they make their way over to where the others are sitting.

Tony, now that Natasha has noticed something's up with him, is acting quite oddly. He had been his usual self during the meeting with the mayor. Well, maybe not. He'd kept a fairly decent lid on his mouth (Darcy'd only stomped on his foot once) and was even respectful to the mayor (and Natasha knew their politics didn't always match up).

_Huh. Wonder what he's hiding?_

To be fair, that might not be the only reason he was acting so strangely, but it ranks pretty highly on the list. It's certainly above possession, and blackmail, and any other odd occurrence that _would_ just happen right now, just as things are beginning to look better.

Without Tony contributing (he's eaten his ice cream quickly and is now playing on his phone), the conversation is a bit stilted, but Thor starts quizzing Loki about his enjoyment of the confection, and that leads to Darcy chiming in with a question about Thor's food preferences, which sucks Bruce and Steve into the discussion.

Soon, Tony, Natasha, and Clint are the only ones not talking animatedly. Neither Natasha nor Clint has ever been particularly loquacious, especially not in a situation such as this, where any member of the gawking crowd could be out to get them. But Clint throws her a look, cutting his eyes at Tony, and she knows that her partner has noticed the billionaire's reticence too.

_Good_. That means more evidence for when she confronts him later (because it's going to have to be her, Steve hasn't gotten his mood quite right ever since he stormed out of their phone conversation with the mayor the other day, and she's not about to put that burden on him—what? she's allowed to care about her team leader's mental wellbeing.).

And that's how the rest of their time there goes, those five talking (although Bruce and Steve do more listening than talking, they're still actively involved in the conversation), Tony playing on his food, and Natasha and Clint amusing themselves by signalling to the other who they think is most likely a SHIELD agent.

Because even though they've gotten Fury put away, even though Maria Hill's in charge now (and that was a good choice, one of the _few_ the World Security Council have made), Clint and Natasha _know_ that they are never going to be completely free of their past with SHIELD.

And honestly, Natasha's glad of the reminder. It shows her how she changed, how she contributed in her own way to being good.

Maybe even being somewhat near 'super,' because there are a few things Natasha knows she is, but _super_ doesn't come anywhere close to making the list.

But she can't undo her choices, and sometimes, it's better for her to just stop thinking about it. Because thinking about it can't change anything, just bring her down.

So she indicates the most unlikely candidate in the entire store, a frazzled mother who had been in there since before the Avengers came in and is trying to clean off one of her children while another fusses and two others fight.

Clint tosses his head back and snorts, and Natasha feels better.

* * *

Back at the Tower, the lobby suddenly busier than it's been in days, Natasha watches as the team disperses. Tony, unsurprisingly given his behavior earlier, barely pulls his eyes away from his phone as he lingers in the back of the elevator as the bulk of the team unloads on the common floor, Thor and Bruce's fingers linked and Darcy chattering eagerly at both Steve and Loki, one on either side of her. Clint throws Natasha an inquisitive look, she inclines her head towards Stark, and Clint disembarks, casually throwing an arm over Loki's shoulders (Natasha smiles at that, since he can't see her, and then he raises his other arm to flip her off behind his back. She has to resist the urge to stick her tongue out at him.), leaving Natasha alone in the elevator with Stark.

_No, Tony,_ she reminds herself. _Call him what he wants to be called, and this will go easier._

He doesn't notice she's still there until he almost walks into her as he tries to leave the elevator.

She doesn't move, standing with her arms crossed, and he comes to an abrupt stop, their faces inches apart, before he leans back, out of her personal space, quickly shuffling his feet back under his torso.

"Uh, hello. You're kind of in my way, and I've got a lot of important shit to do. Yeah, that. So if you'll excuse me," he tries to walk past her, and she sticks her arm out to block his passage out of the elevator.

He pulls up again, impeded by his arm, and she gets a look at his phone screen (it looks like some sort of e-help website, what the hell does _Tony Stark_ need with e-help?) before he pulls it back too quickly to be natural. He tries to play it off by wiping the screen on his shirt and then sliding the phone into his pocket.

"Did you finally fire one of your guns too close to your ears or something and kill your hearing? Get out of my goddamn way, Romanoff."

"Or what, Stark, you'll make me?" She shouldn't rise to his bait, he's obviously trying to provoke her, but he is _so infuriating_.

"Yeah," he huffs, angling his head in a way that makes their height disparity even more obvious.

She rolls her eyes, unimpressed by his braggadocio.

And really, she'd like to see him _try_.

The silence stretches on, until he says, "What the fuck is your damage, Romanoff? Get the hell out of my way, you don't own me."

"I'm more interested in _your_ damage at the moment, Tony. Can we just talk for a minute?" She removes her arm, carefully letting it hang at her side, forcing the aggression out of her stance.

"What-the-hell-ever, you won't leave me alone until I agree."

He doesn't move past her, though, and after a moment (where she expects him to bolt for his workshop so that he's in familiar space, so that he's got an excuse to not look her in the eye, and he doesn't), he raises an eyebrow at her.

"Well? I don't have all day, you know. I have an unfinished assignment from Dictator Lewis to get to."

"That. That right there is what I mean. You're being even more of an asshole than usual, and I want to know why. Because I thought, you know, we were all making an effort to get around our issues. Hell, Banner's fucking _dating_ Thor, and Clint's interacting with Loki, even making an effort to seek him out, and you were doing your part, but recently, especially today, you're _not_. You didn't mouth off to the mayor, you didn't complain about paying for the ice cream, you don't talk to your teammates when you're usually the life of the party. And I want to know what the hell you've done with the real Tony Stark."

Coolly, he responds, "You say I'm being more of an asshole than usual, but you also say that I _didn't_ sass the mayor. I _didn't_ complain about paying for the ice cream. So I wanted to have a little down time, so what? You can't have it both ways, Romanoff, now make up your goddamn mind. Either you want me to be a 'genius billionaire playboy philanthropist' or you want me to be 'St. Anthony the Patient.' So which is it, huh? Make up _your_ goddamn mind. And leave me the hell alone while you figure it out."

He pushes past her, shoving her shoulder rudely, and she's shocked. And here's maybe where she should leave, go get backup. Get Steve, or Banner, or anyone who can make him calm the hell down.

Because he's being unusually rational in the middle of a confrontation and there's a hint of resignation about his attitude, and she doesn't like it. Something's just not ringing true here.

But she came down here to do something, and goddamn it, she's the Black Widow, she can handle one pissed off man. She's done it before.

Although usually she's not trying to _talk _to them so much as _incapacitate _them.

Still, she squares her shoulders and marches to the door of his lab. It's shut, and Natasha thinks that if the door could slam, Tony would have slammed it when he stormed in there.

"JARVIS, open the fucking door." She's in no mood to be polite to Stark's damn AI. It had wanted her help before, getting Tony out of his lab when he was sulking, right after his breakup, and it damn well owed her.

The door swings open with a 'click' and Tony's music, loud, angry, spills out into the hallway where she stands.

"Mute," she demands before stepping inside.

The room falls silent, and he whirls around, moving protectively to cover whatever he's working on. She doesn't care about that, and she focuses her eyes on his face.

"Look, Romanoff, I don't know who the hell died and made you my fairy godmother, but I _don't need one_. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself, and this is a personal problem. It won't affect things with the team, so please, can you just go _away_?"

He sounds pretty upset about something, but he was correct earlier. She's not making a whole lot of sense, so she moves to lean against a counter, casually.

"Okay, Tony. I'll get out of your space on one condition. You agree to talk to someone about this. I don't care who. Me, Steve, your shrink, just _not JARVIS_. A person."

"Yeah, fine, whatever, don't let the door hit you on your way out."

"I'm going to hold you to this," she asserts over her shoulder as she leaves. If she keeps up her side of the deal, he's more likely to keep up his, and everyone's happier all around.

"Good_bye_, Romanoff."

The door shuts behind her and she heads for the elevator. Inside, she places one hand on the railing and slumps against the mirrored wall.

If she's being honest with herself, that went about as well as she expected it to.

The hard part's just going to be holding Tony to that. Because he's not going to. She knows it, and he knows it.

His type of problem-solving usually involves alcohol in small doses (or, if the situation is exceptionally terrible, large ones) and some radical new invention that will 'revolutionize the [fill in the blank]' which he goes to present behind sunglasses with a smile pasted on his face.

Not talking to other people. Not Tony Stark.

And she's not trying to change him. Everyone has their own way of dealing with shit, but his way needs to be a little healthier.

For his sake, and for the rest of the team.

And although it feels like Natasha's alone in this, doing all the heavy lifting, she knows that if Steve wasn't dealing with whatever it is that he's got going on, he would be right here with her, perhaps even doing this by himself.

But he's got something going on, and nobody else seems to have noticed that there's a problem besides Clint (and again, he's not in a good place to handle this right now), so it falls to Natasha.

The elevator doors slide open on the floor where her bedroom is located, and Natasha makes a beeline straight for her bed, picking up her pillow and throwing it against the wall as hard as she can.

It helps, but just a little, and with a sigh she pulls her favorite piece from its holster under the edge of the bed frame, where she can reach it almost immediately upon waking, and checks the clip.

There will be extra ammo in the range, and that's what she needs now, a target for her aggression. Usually she'd go beat Clint up until she felt better, but she doesn't feel like that's an option right now.

Taking the stairs down with a heavy tread, she sets up in the booth farthest from the door.

Remembering Stark's jibe, she settles her protective headgear over her ears and takes aim.

* * *

What feels like thirty minutes later, she's punched a hole approximately the size of a fist in each of the target's major kill zones and she's feeling better.

Just as she's about to put in a new clip, Clint strides into the range, slightly more hurried than usual.

Knocking the ear protectors off her head to hang around her neck, she asks a terse, "What's up?"

"It's just dinnertime, Natasha. We asked JARVIS to page you, but you weren't answering and I was worried."

"I'm fine, Clint. Just needed a little stress relief."

Slotting the clip into place, she checks to make sure that the safety's on and then slides the gun against the small of her back, taking the ear covering and goggles off and putting them on a nearby table.

Punching Clint lightly on the shoulder, she makes for the door.

"I'm hungry, what's for dinner?" Now that she thinks about it, she's starving.

"Uh, Steve and I made lasagna. Well, several, actually. You sure you're good? You can talk to me if you need to, Nat."

"I'm fine, Clint. This is just different for me, that's all. Don't worry about me."

They take the stairs up together, two at a time, and she _is_ feeling better.

As long as she doesn't have to sit next to Stark at dinner, that is.

* * *

**I know nothing about New York's mayor, so please don't take anything I've said about him (her?) seriously!**

**Feed the author?**


	6. Talk It Out

**dysprositos is my hero, absolutely. Both for being awesome at beta shit and for putting up with me sending her multiple things a week.**

* * *

_SLAM._ Tony storms around his lab, picking up things and banging them down.

He's got plenty of large metal objects to abuse, and it feels good.

Natasha had tried to push him into telling her his 'problem' yesterday, and he'd fought back.

Because how fucking well would that go over, saying, 'I like you, but I don't think I'm over my ex yet.'

She'd run screaming from the building.

Okay, maybe not _that_, Tony realizes, Natasha is far less dramatic than that. More likely, she'd stalk from the building in a pair of her impossibly high heels with her head held high, and Tony would wake up one morning in the near future with a needle sticking out of his neck containing some unidentifiable compound that would do something like dye him green or make him grow a third eye or something. And then he, not Thor, Loki, who-the-fuck-ever would be Rapunzel.

So yeah. Talking to her is _so_ not fucking happening.

Which is why Tony is banging things in his lab, because she'd shot him a significant look over breakfast before being dragged off to conference with some of the others. One benefit of living with seven people, he supposes, is that the other six can usually be counted on to distract the seventh who he really wants to avoid.

She's bound to come ask who he's talked to later today, and he won't have an answer for her, and then she'll try to talk to him herself, and then Tony will inevitably open his mouth and say something really fucking stupid and it'll be a disaster, and...

He should stop. Calm down. He needs to be constructive.

Taking a deep breath, Tony braces his hands on the table in front of him and lets his head hang down between his arms.

Then, straightening up, he asks, "J, who should I talk to?"

Yeah, letting JARVIS solve his problem isn't the greatest idea he's ever had, but it's all he's got at the moment. And he built JARVIS, anyway, so technically he's solving his own issue. Yeah.

"Sir, if you are referring to your promise to Agent Romanoff to discuss what is bothering you, I believe Dr. Banner might be the ideal candidate."

"Oh, yeah? Why?"

"Because he has been in a past relationship that ended on...less than the best terms. However, she has communicated with him to inform him that she bears him no ill will, and I believe he returns the sentiment. Also, he is highly unlikely to let you provoke him into a confrontation, whereas some of your other friends might not possess that patience."

"You're right. Of fucking course you're right. Damn it, why didn't I think of that myself?"

"I assume this is a rhetorical question, sir?"

"Yeah, yeah. So where's Bruce now?"

"Dr. Banner appears to be in his room, sir."

"Am I gonna interrupt something if I go down there, J? Walk in on him and Goldilocks?" Because that was something Tony didn't really want to deal with right now. He's happy for them and all, but they tend towards the happy sappy side of the scale and he'd rather not watch that at this point.

"Master Thor is with Master Loki on another floor, sir, and Dr. Banner is alone."

Tony kicks his chair across the room, one last huff of frustration, and starts for the door determinedly.

* * *

He steps off the elevator and walks down the hall towards Bruce's room, feeling as though he is heading to his doom.

Counting his footsteps in three languages gives him something to do other than freak out, and he makes it to Bruce's door and knocks before he even considers high-tailing it back to his lab to hide.

Because Natasha was right, he should talk to somebody. Psychology has never been his thing, but he knows he's read somewhere that bottling things up inside isn't good.

Plus the internet research he'd done had recommended discussing the situation with a trusted friend. (That was the only bit of advice people seemed to agree on; otherwise, opinions on how to best handle the situation varied widely, and despite the large amount of material Tony has read through, there was no one best idea.)

So he's here instead. And he supposes he trusts Bruce, supposes he's a 'friend.'

Bruce answers the door, looking slightly bemused. "Tony?"

"Uh, hi."

Tony rocks up onto his tiptoes nervously and Bruce takes an abrupt step back, "Want to come in?"

"Please," Tony responds, stepping gingerly around Bruce to hover awkwardly in the small foyer of Bruce's tiny apartment.

Bruce shuts the door and says, "Come on in," leading the way to the couch, where he sits down and looks at Tony expectantly before hopping back up, "Can I get you anything?"

"No, I'm good. Thanks." Tony sits carefully on a chair, clenching his hands together to keep from fidgeting with them, or his hair, or whatever seems to be the best distraction.

Bruce takes his seat, looking at Tony like he's waiting for him to start the conversation. After a moment, he gently prompts, "Can I help you with something?"

"_No_! I mean, yeah. That."

Tony's hesitant to say anything else, and after a moment Bruce offers, "Are you having an issue in your lab?"

Pinching the webbing between his finger and thumb to keep him focused, Tony forces out, "...No. It's a personal thing. Uh. You had a girlfriend before the whole, um, incident, didn't you?"

Smiling hesitantly, like he doesn't know what the question has to do with anything, Bruce responds, "Yeah, I did. Do you mind if I ask why you want to know?"

"That's kind of the whole point. See, Pepper just broke up with me and that sucks and now I might kind of like Natasha and I don't know what to do because I thought I was still in love with Pepper and I was acting weird so Natasha said I had to talk to somebody and I can't talk to her and I don't know what to do!"

Bruce raises a hand, "Slow down, Tony. It's okay. So, you're feeling confused because you like Natasha now? As in romantically?"

"Yeah."

"Do you think maybe you could try and tell me why that's a problem?"

"Because I _just_ broke up with Pepper and apparently there's some sort of a time limit on these things? Like I have to be in mourning for my relationship for a certain amount of time or something? And I don't know _how_ you fucking get over a girl you loved, damn it!"

"Calm down, Tony, I'll do my best to help you. So Natasha noticed that you were acting oddly and suggested that you talk to somebody?"

"Uh huh, and I thought you might be able to help. I mean, you got over _your_ ex and all, right?"

"I did. But I was the one who had to break things off with her, so our situation was a little different from yours."

This doesn't sound very good, so Tony starts to get up and leave, but Bruce hurriedly interrupts him with "I don't mean I can't try to help you, Tony, if you want me to."

Dropping heavily back down into his chair, Tony sighs, "I do."

"Okay. Um. Well. After Harlem, General Ross was still eager to get his hands on me, and I couldn't allow that, so I told Betty I needed to leave, and I went. I don't know what happened to her after that in any great detail, but she said she's been seeing someone else and she's happy."

Here, Bruce pauses, and shifts in his seat before continuing, "As for me, well, I got busy. Tried not to think about Betty because there was no way for us to get back together without me putting her in serious danger. And I couldn't do that to her."

"So you just kept busy for a while and then it went away?"

"That's an oversimplification, but essentially, yes. I think. But haven't you already been doing that? Or have you just been in your lab thinking about Ms. Potts?"

"Seriously, call her 'Pepper,' that's just weird. And no, I've been working my ass off to make this PR shit work, damn it, Bruce!"

Bruce raises his hands concilitorially, trying to calm Tony down.

He takes a few deep breaths, knowing that jumping on Bruce isn't going to help matters. Besides, he realizes in a sudden moment of clarity, he's not mad at _Bruce_, he's mad at _Pepper_.

Jumping up, he begins to pace around the small confines of Bruce's living room, ignoring the puzzled look the scientist is surely shooting him.

After a moment of Tony's agitated movement, Bruce speaks up cautiously, "Uh, Tony? Are you okay?"

"I'm not okay, I'm _pissed off_, Bruce!"

"Um, what about?" Bruce sounds cautious, and for a split second Tony contemplates the wisdom of getting angry in the vicinity of a guy with the ability to turn into the Hulk before deciding _fuck it, he's got awesome control_ and _this is my pity party, not his, damn it_.

"Because she was totally selfish in breaking up with me!"

"Why don't you back up and explain about your breakup? All I know is that she broke up with you and went off to California, to your company's HQ."

Tony pauses in his pacing. "She told me that she couldn't sit around and wait for some news reporter to announce that I had died in battle. She needed some 'emotional distance' from the fucking problem. Me! And I fucking called her!"

Bruce stands up and moves to face Tony, running a hand through his hair. "Okay. When did you call her, exactly?"

"When I was taking the fucking nuke up into the goddamn portal, and she didn't answer the fucking phone, had it on vibrate or some shit. Goddamnit, that wasn't my fucking fault!"

"No, it wasn't. You're right. Tony. I'm not saying it was. This is the way I see it. You're kind of reckless. Not that that's necessarily a bad thing," Bruce waves his arms for emphasis, "But you, um, are. And Pepper isn't. And since she doesn't have a lot of experience with this kind of situation, the whole saving-the-world thing, she doesn't understand how sometimes it's...necessary to just do whatever it takes to get the job done. So neither one of you is necessarily _wrong_, you're just, oh, I don't know, on two different sides of the issue without any way to understand the other's position."

That makes a hell of a lot of sense. Damn, but does it.

"I hadn't thought about it like that."

Bruce laughs a little. "Probably because you were too close. Sometimes you need someone with some distance to get perspective."

"Jesus fuck, _thank you_." Deciding that's not enough to express his appreciation, he lurches forward to give Bruce a tight hug.

Carefully putting his arms around Tony in return and awkwardly patting his back, Bruce responds, "No problem. So I'm not going to be helping Natasha hide your corpse in a couple days, am I?"

_Oh. Natasha._ That's a whole other can of worms that he doesn't know how to address. Pulling back from the embrace, he asks, "What do I do about her?"

Yeah, he's whining, but damn it, when do normal people do this shit? When they're teenagers or something, and when _he_ was a teenager he was writing AI software, going to college, and getting drunk. Among other things.

He sure as hell wasn't dealing with relationship drama. So he's allowed to be clueless, thank you very much.

Bruce steps back and looks at Tony. "You know, you can probably figure that out on your own. Give it some time, you know, to see if you think she'd actually go out with you or if you think she's totally disinterested. And make sure that if Pepper calls you one day and tells you that she's changed her mind, that she wants you back, that you're not going to just drop everything for her. Um. That would be totally fine, unless you're dating Natasha then, by the way."

"So don't go back to Pep, yeah, I can do that. But Bruce, how do I know that about Natasha?"

"Tony. Aren't you the one with the reputation with women, not me? Thor asked me out, I'm so not an expert at this. Just see if she acts like some of the women you know were interested in you. Easy. And I didn't say 'don't go back to Pepper,' I said that you need to make sure you're over her before you do anything with Natasha."

"Yeah, I _knew_ that before I came in here. But yeah, I guess you're right. Look, Bruce, I really appreciate this. And, uh, I'd appreciate if you kept it between us."

"I'm not going to lie to Thor for you, but I can ask him to keep it a secret."

And really, Tony doesn't know what else he could expect, so he stands and heads for the door.

"Thanks again, Bruce."

And before it can get any more awkward, he's practically sprinting down the hall to the elevator.

* * *

Back in his lab, he slumps against a table and scrubs his eyes with his fists.

"Well, that went well."

"Indeed it did, sir. I am pleased that you have made a meaningful human connection."

"Oh, fuck you, JARVIS. Hey, why didn't you tell me to call Rhodey? He's my best friend, you know."

"Because the odds of Colonel Rhodes being available to talk today are slim, and Agent Romanoff is planning to come speak with you later. You needed to speak to someone immediately."

"All the same, I should probably call him. We haven't talked in a while, and I want to know how the suit is, if it needs any maintenance."

"I can leave him a message asking that he call you at his earliest convenience, sir."

"Do it."

And then Tony's had _enough_ of this 'feelings' shit for the time being, so he commands, "Hit it," and JARVIS, long since accustomed to his habits, turns his working playlist on.

Pulling his long-sleeved shirt over his head and tossing it in the general direction of the door (_I'll get it later_), Tony grabs his goggles and welding torch and sets to work on the chestplate of the new armor.

* * *

And that's how Natasha finds him a few hours later; lying on his back under the armor, working on a detailed piece.

She must have seen the welder and decided to take extra caution; JARVIS gradually lowers the music volume and announces, "Agent Romanoff is here to see you, sir."

Flicking the blowtorch off, Tony pushes up to his feet, hoping his face isn't too grubby.

"What's up?"

She rolls her eyes, presumably at his childishness, but replies, "Not much, just finished up sparring with Clint and Steve."

"And you kicked both of their asses, I'm sure."

Her smile turns feral. "Yep. Clint can never quite beat me, and Steve's still not used to fighting someone my size."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah. He's not as flexible as I am, and I can move more quickly. But I'm sure you don't care about that."

She's right; he doesn't, so he forces himself to keep smiling as he reports, "I talked to Bruce earlier; he was very helpful."

"Feeling better?"

"I am, I guess."

"Okay, then. Sounds good. Steve was heading out for his first TV appearance right after he got out of the shower; he should be on almost any minute now. We were planning on watching it in the living room, do you want to come watch with us? Darcy and Loki are making popcorn..."

"Sounds good. I want to finish up this piece, but I'll be right down."

"All right," she smiles at him before turning and exiting the lab.

That went better than he was expecting; she didn't say 'I told you so' or try and rub it in that she had been correct. And she hadn't said anything about talking to Bruce herself, to make sure that he wasn't lying to her about having talked to someone.

And that feels good. He hasn't really ever had anyone demonstrate that level of trust in him before, and it leaves a kind of warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest.

If this is what having friends is like, he can see the appeal.

Turning his welding torch back on, he sets to work, finishing up the seam he had been working on before she came in.

Then, after scrubbing his hands with his gritty, 'will remove anything' soap, he grabs his discarded shirt off the floor and heads for the elevator, pulling it over his head as he goes.

* * *

Everyone seems to have piled onto all of the available space in front of the television; Bruce is actually sitting _on_ Thor to make enough room for Loki to sit on the couch with them.

There's no way in hell that Tony will be able to squeeze onto a seat, so he snatches a handful of popcorn from the bowl on Darcy's lap, dodging her petulant slap, and plops onto the floor, shifting so that he can lean his back against the far end of the couch.

Steve's not on yet, and the TV's on mute, so Tony asks, "Why didn't anyone go with him?"

"I offered," Darcy explains, "But he said he wanted to do this by himself. He called me once he got there, said everything's okay, and Steve's a big boy, I didn't want to argue with him."

"Fair enough," Tony replies. "Now pass the damn popcorn."

Darcy curls around her bowl protectively, and Natasha leans around Clint to hand hers to Tony.

"Salt's on the table if you want it, and I'm done, so feel free to do whatever."

He tries a few pieces and realizes why she recommended the salt; she doesn't put any on her popcorn. After he's retrieved it and shaken a generous amount out, he pulls his legs up into a cross-legged position and waits.

Clint and Natasha are talking lowly, so when Steve comes on Darcy yells, "Shh!" and unmutes the television.

'_Good __afternoon__, Mr. Rogers,'_ the host says and then titters. _'Do you mind introducing yourself?'__  
_

'_I'm Steve Rogers, but most of you probably know me as Captain America.'_ Steve manages to dredge up a smile from somewhere to tack onto the end of that statement.

'_It's good to see you, and thank you for saving the world!'_ she enthuses.

'_Just doing my job, ma'am,'_ Steve ducks his head shyly.

'_Can you tell us about your team? You work with the Avengers, yes?'_ she prompts.

'_I do. And they're a great group of guys.'_

'_And one lady, correct?'_ the host breaks in.

'_Yes, Natalie is a __woman__, but that doesn't make her any different than the rest of us.'_

'_Who else do you work with?'_ And that's a dumbass question, but Steve rolls with it.

'_Well, there's Na__talie__, and then Thor, Bruce, Tony, Loki, and the most awesome __guy__, Clint.'_ He blushes.

'_Why do you say that?'_ the host asks.

'_I lost a bet,'_ Steve answers, ducking his head again. Honestly, Tony's gonna have to talk to him about proper interview manners.

'_What were you betting on?'_

'_A sparring match between Natalie and Clint, I bet on Clint and he bet on Natalie. She won the match, so he won, and I had to pay up.'_

'_Do you often bet on athletic activities?'_

'_I guess so, I mean, we have to shake it up sometimes. And a healthy sense of competition is always good for the team.'_

'_Who are you most often in competition with, then?'_

'_Oh. I suppose maybe it's... Tony?'_

'_Are you asking me or telling me?'_ That's just plain rude, and Tony decides that he doesn't like this woman. Honestly, he maybe went to _one_ of his communication classes in school and he can talk to people better than that. And it's not really surprising that Steve would say that they've had the most problems ('Everything special about you came out of a bottle' echoes through his mind). But Tony would like to think that they're working on that.

'_Telling you,'_ Steve responds, and his voice is stronger. _'Tony and I disagree the most often, but we're making an effort to get over our differences.'_ The host opens her mouth like she wants to say something, but Steve takes a quick breath and continues on, _'The one person I'm living with whom I haven't __disagreed with__ is Loki. He's been a great roommate, well, Tower-mate, really. He's made a fantastic effort to get along with all of us, and he pitches in and does more than his fair share of chores around the house.'_

'_But do you really buy this story about it being an evil clone of Loki's who tried to take over New York?'_

'_Doppelganger, ma'am, not clone. The Chitauri in question had no previous affiliation with Loki. And yes, _I do_ believe what he and Thor say is true. I saw Loki when he first arrived here. I'm sorry, Loki, this is kinda personal, but he couldn't talk when he first arrived; he was so traumatized __after what happened to him__. And I've seen how much progress he's made. It's been really inspirational for me.'_

Turning in his chair to more fully face the studio audience (the cameraman quickly follows him, keeping him perfectly in frame), Steve explains, _'Some of you may know that I served with the US Army in World War II. I crashed a plane in the Arctic while preventing an attack on major American cities, and the combination of the physical enhancements of the supersoldier serum as well as the ice put me into suspended animation. I was found and awoken last year, and it's been a struggle for me to readjust. But seeing Loki recover and heal from his challenges has helped me to overcome my own.'_

The host steers the conversation back into lighter waters after that (_'Dr. Banner and I have had some challenging interactions, but I think we were both operating under mistaken ideas about each other, and once we got around those, things got a lot easier. __He's a good person to have around.__'_), and soon Steve's shaking her hand and exiting the stage.

Figuring it's safe to speak now, Tony inquires, speaking to no one in particular, "Who knew Steve could do that? Because I didn't, and if I was the last one to know, that's not cool."

"No, Tony," Darcy answers, standing up and stretching, "I sure didn't know, I mean, we talked about what he needed to say, and I asked him to say something good about Loki and Bruce, but that was it. But wasn't he touring for a while during the war? I mean, he had to learn how to talk in front of people then."

"Yeah, guess you're right. But _damn_, though."

The group begins to disperse, and before Tony can escape, Clint throws an arm over his shoulders and hauls him into the kitchen to help wash the dishes. Natasha leaves with the others, and Tony's grateful for the reprieve from watching everything he says around her.

* * *

**The host interviewing Steve isn't based on a real person, just a figment of my imagination.**

**Posting this today in light of the new IM3 footage makes me laugh. Anyone know why?**


	7. Fake It 'Til You Make It

**My beta, dysprositos, is awesome. She told me to keep in some shit I was concerned about, and then made everything 500% better.**

* * *

The weekend passes and nothing really major happens; Tony holes himself up in his lab for hours at a time before bounding out suddenly and having JARVIS call all the team members in the building to the living room where he proceeds to introduce them (or re-introduce, in Natasha's case) to his best friend, Colonel Rhodes, via video call.

Steve does a lot of standing up straight, like he's got to act all proper in the presence of a superior officer, until Clint hits him in the stomach with the back of his hand and Steve promptly deflates, wheezing. Clint's calm, not really doing anything other than hanging out behind Steve and keeping him from straightening back up again ("Dude, chill, he said you didn't have to do that shit. Besides, you're technically not in the military anymore.").

Bruce and Thor are out, doing some couple-y shit, but Loki and Rhodes have a tense stare-off until Tony intercedes, talking a mile a minute about 'Gandalf' and some project he's promised to help with until Rhodes relaxes and Loki's smiling bashfully.

Darcy comes in, says hi to Rhodes, and attempts to fade into a corner, clutching her tablet like it contains the secrets of the universe. She's not really shy, and Natasha's not really sure what's up with that, but Darcy's entitled to her secrets, so Natasha doesn't ask.

And as for Natasha, she and Rhodes size each other up before he smiles and says, "I don't believe I got your name, the right one, the last time we met, Agent..."

"Romanoff," she states firmly, pleased that he doesn't seem to be harboring any negative feelings towards her for her deception. It makes sense that he wouldn't; he's a military man, he knows what doing one's job can require.

And, other than that one extraordinary occurrence, the weekend proceeds fairly smoothly. Well, Loki and Darcy do manage to set whatever they're attempting to cook on fire, but a fire extinguisher is handy and they are removed from food preparation duty for a while (Steve threatens them with cooking lessons; Natasha can't tell if he's joking or not).

So when the start of the week rolls around, and Darcy reminds Natasha that her interview is the next one up, she wishes she could go back to the weekend.

That's rare for her. She has almost never before wished to turn back time and relive an experience, unless it was an unpleasant one that she wished to alter (the hospital fire, perhaps).

But it's not entirely a bad feeling, this sort of pleasant nostalgia, and she willingly sits down with Darcy to discuss what she should talk about during her interview.

Darcy also takes her aside to inform her that she should expect silly questions, the kind that Steve wasn't asked but that interviewers will think nothing of asking a woman. It's part of the lingering double standards of society.

And Natasha thinks that's pretty awful, that it's the twenty-first century and she's being told to expect blatant sexism (in America, land of supposed equal rights), but Darcy assures her that the 'no comment' option is fully available to her. That makes it marginally better.

So Natasha takes Clint's ribbing about her nervousness over choosing the right outfit (she's not sure how he knows that, but when she asks him he just smiles mysteriously and says that he has his ways), and suffers through both Steve's and, oddly enough, Tony's attempts at educating her on proper public speaking protocol (Steve's is endearing, Tony's is grating).

And even Loki draws her carefully away from the others to offer up an idea that he's had, one that he says might be better coming from her than from one of the others, since she does have an 'all-business' persona or some shit like that.

"Since we are trying to convince the inhabitants of New York that I pose no threat to them, perhaps you could mention our training exercise. I fought most of you, and I took it no further than the proper bounds of friendly aggression and competition, correct? It was no different for you than fighting with Steve, or well...I'm hesitant to say Clint, as I know how close the two of you are..."

Natasha's not a big fan of having words put in her mouth, but she takes a moment to consider what he's suggested, and she finds that she thinks it's a good idea. "Yeah, Loki, other than the magic, it wasn't different at all. You're right. Thanks for the idea. I can't promise I'll use it, but I'll definitely try to work it in."

"That's all I'm asking," he replies, slightly self-deprecating, and moves off to go do whatever it is that he does to amuse himself.

* * *

The morning that she's supposed to report to the studio, she wakes up early, too wired to sleep, and goes to the gym.

A few minutes into her warm-up, she's bent over stretching when a bleary-eyed, shirtless Clint stumbles in, shaking his head in an attempt to wake himself up.

"What're you doing here?" she asks.

"Told JARVIS to wake me up when you were up, knew you'd be nervous."

She doesn't bother to deny it, he knows her too well for that, and he silently takes the treadmill next to hers and doesn't make any of his usual protests when she turns on her exercise playlist.

He trails her to the locker room and then back to her bedroom, where she has to draw the line.

"What, you gonna shower with me too? Go be useful and grab me some breakfast; I doubt they'll be feeding me. Unless it's to the sharks."

"Ha fucking ha." But he goes and brings her back a bagel and glass of orange juice, which she eats quickly after she climbs out of the shower.

It seems like he's going to hang around while she gets ready, and while his presence has been soothing, now it's just starting to get on her nerves, and she fixes him with a _look_.

Knowing her as well as he does, he takes her dirty dishes and leaves the room in a hurry, calling, "Be back soon," over his shoulder as he goes.

"Don't call me, I'll call you, asshole," she yells after him, but the door has shut and she doesn't think he's heard.

Before she can start overthinking anything, she sits down in front of the mirror and loses herself in the familiar, repetitive motions of makeup application.

After she's done and all dressed except for the zipper of her dress, which is positioned in the one place she can't contort to pull it up—and it sticks, besides—she steps into her heels and fastens the straps around her ankles, and leaves her room, asking, "JARVIS, where's Clint?"

"Agent Barton is in the kitchen on the sixty-seventh floor, Agent Romanoff."

"You're really going to have to quit calling us 'Agent,' she muses aloud as she steps into the elevator. "We're not government employees anymore, just civilians, really."

"What would you prefer I call you, then?"

"I guess Ms.?"

"Very well, Ms. Romanoff. You will find Mr. Barton waiting for you."

"Thanks."

She steps off the elevator and goes directly over to Clint, the back of her dress hanging open. Spinning around, she demands, "Zip me."

"Yes, your highness," he snarks back, but he does as she's asked.

Tugging her skirt to hang straight, she turns to face him. "See you in a bit, I suppose."

"If you live that long."

She levels him with a glare that promises future retribution, but turns and heads for the door instead, planning to hail a cab once she gets outside.

Like when Steve went for his interview, Darcy has offered to accompany her, but Natasha would rather go by herself. And she thinks Darcy will probably have a better time sitting in front of the TV and shushing all the loud men they live with, rather than sitting around and waiting for Natasha (Darcy's a bit of a control freak, Natasha has noticed).

As the elevator descends into the single digits, JARVIS announces, "Ms. Romanoff, if you will proceed around to the back exit, you will find Mr. Stark's driver waiting to take you to your appointment."

"Uh, thanks, JARVIS. I appreciate your help, but I can get a cab. It's not a problem."

"Mr. Stark said that I was to insist, Ms. Romanoff."

_Oh_. _Tony_ ordered the car for her? That's...new. But not entirely awful; it shows that he's coming out of his bubble somewhat; before, when she was undercover keeping an eye on him, he couldn't be bothered to remember Pepper's allergy to strawberries, much less a petty, mundane, little thing like an appointment. Especially one that wasn't even for him.

"Okay, then, can you please tell him I said 'thanks?'"

"Of course, Ms. Romanoff."

* * *

The same driver from last week when she and Tony had attended the charity gala is waiting, leaning against the side of the car (a four-door sedan, Natasha doesn't know the model) and smoking.

He drops his cigarette on the ground, stubbing it out with the toe of his shoe, and opens her door for her. "Good morning, ma'am."

"Good morning."

They don't speak after that, and she sits quietly in the back of the car, staring out the window at the cityscape, mentally running over the list of things that she's supposed to be talking about.

When they arrive at the studio, he turns around and asks, "Do you know how long you're going to be?"

"I have no idea. But I can catch a cab home, it's no trouble," Natasha replies.

"No, ma'am, Mr. Stark told me that I was supposed to make sure you got back okay. I'm going to go find some parking nearby and wait for you." He fishes around in the glove compartment for a second, pulling a business card out and handing it to her. "Here's my number, just give me a call when you're ready to go and I'll head on over."

Natasha takes it, slipping it into the small purse she's carrying. "I will. Thank you."

He gets out and holds her door for her before getting back in and driving away.

Natasha's left alone, in front of the imposing building.

She takes a deep breath and then purposefully strides inside, finding the front desk and clearing her throat to get the attention of the young man typing on the computer there.

"Yes? Can I help you?"

"I'm Natalie Rushman, I'm here for an interview..."

"Ah, yes, Ms. Rushman, we've been expecting you." He peers around her like he's expecting someone else before turning his practiced smile back on her and informing her, "You can head on up. Third floor, second door on the right."

"Thank you."

She follows his directions, and a young woman opens the door. Natasha tells her, "I'm Natalie Rushman."

"Yes, come on in. We're just going to get you ready and then you'll be all set."

She's shown to a chair, and then the woman settles a cape over her, "We wouldn't want to mess up that pretty dress, now would we?"

She inspects Natasha's face before turning and agitating a bottle of what Natasha recognizes as makeup remover.

"Close your eyes."

Natasha does as she's ordered, and the makeup artist explains, "You did a nice job, but everything looks different on camera. I bet your handsome friend, that Captain America, was wearing some makeup when he was on TV the other day."

"He didn't say," Natasha ventures, unsure of what to do in this situation. She knows that the stylist is correct, can't really imagine why she didn't think of it before (_Letting your nerves interfere with your rational functioning, Romanoff, you'd better straighten __the hell__ up_), but she's never had anyone else do her makeup before.

Even when she was just learning, the instructors demonstrated on their own face, not their pupils'.

So it's a new experience, but as the woman's deft hands move and she keeps up a stream of steady chatter that she doesn't expect Natasha to respond to, Natasha finds herself relaxing.

A few minutes later, a harried-looking, clipboard-wielding young man comes rushing in. "Is she ready yet?"

"Almost, just calm down. Nobody's ever been late, I don't know why you keep expecting the world to end when we're slightly behind schedule."

"There's a first time for everything," he snaps, and does something on his smartphone, impatiently tapping his foot.

"There, all done," the makeup artist announces a moment later.

"Good, come on," he demands.

"Wait just a damn minute and let her take a look at herself."

Obediently (because she is damn curious), Natasha turns and inspects herself in the mirror. It's nothing fancy, just more detailing around her eyes and a darker color of blush on her cheeks, emphasizing the paleness of her skin.

"Thank you."

"My pleasure. Now go on, before he develops ulcers."

Natasha goes, following behind him as he hurries to the elevator and pushes the button for their floor several times in succession before turning to address her.

"Okay, you're on first, which means she's gonna be a little more prickly, got it? Just don't let her get under your skin. You'll be on about ten minutes, with two commercial breaks, and do your best to not sweat, okay? One of the guests last week got so shiny that we had to go to an emergency commercial. It wasn't pretty."

"I'll do my best," Natasha responds dryly. None of her training ever covered controlling her sweating.

The elevator doors open and she follows him off. Her guide instructs, "Just dump your purse there; it'll be okay."

She does.

"Sit there."

She does.

No more orders are forthcoming, and then the host sweeps out, trailing assistants, and shakes Natasha's hand perfunctorily.

"Call me Kari, Natalie."

She sits in the chair opposite Natasha, and someone yells out "Thirty seconds!"

"I'll just ask you a few questions about your teammates, your job, you know, that sort of stuff."

Natasha inclines her head, making sure that she's smiling.

"We're live in five, four, three, two, one."

A bright light shines on Natasha's face, and it takes a good deal of her training to not blink like crazy. As it is, she looks discomfited, but she focuses on Kari's face as she does her opening spiel.

Then the host turns to her. "And here with me today is Natalie Rushman, otherwise known as the Black Widow, of the superhero group The Avengers."

"Hello. I'm glad to be here." Natasha thinks that's the right thing to say, but honestly, she's dangerously close to just not giving a fuck.

"Well, we're glad to have you! Now, you have to tell us what it's like to live in Stark Tower with the other Avengers. It must be hard, being the only woman." Her smile is probably supposed to be sympathetic, but it just seems artificial.

"Actually, I'm not the only woman. Thor's friend, Darcy Lewis, whom he met on his first trip to Earth, lives with us. But it's interesting. I'm used to living with Clint, he and I have known each other for _too _long, but some of the others have been an adjustment. Different personalities is a bit of an understatement."

"And are you and Clint an item, then?"

Natasha can't help it, she's sure her distaste at the ridiculous assumption shows on her face. And it's not her place to out Clint, he can do that his own damn self, so she just pastes a smile back on her face and responds, "No way, he's like my brother!" in an attempt to be cheerful.

Someone shouts something in the background, and smoothly, the host presents a plug for one of the show's sponsors, and then they go to commercial.

They resume, and the light's just as bright as before.

"Well, then, how about you and Tony Stark? I've seen the pictures from last week, you two look pretty cozy..."

Rather than sit here while this woman attempts to partner Natasha with every single one of her teammates (and it seems damn likely that she will at the rate that she's going), she decides to head her off at the pass. "No, I'm not dating any of the guys. Not dating anyone, actually, my job has never left me with the time."

"But you're no longer employed with the government, are you?"

"No, I'm not."

Thankfully, Kari accepts the change of subject. "And what has that been like for you? I understand you worked with your agency for quite a while."

"I did, and it's been quite an adjustment, getting used to not having a routine and staying in one place for so long."

"So you moved around a lot before?"

"Yes, I did. I've been to every continent except Antarctica, most several times."

"And are you happier now without your job?"

"I don't know, honestly. I miss the structure of my old life, but I think it's good for me to have some downtime like I've been getting lately."

The host chatters pointlessly about some boring shit for a while and Natasha nods along obediently, trying to hold up her end of the conversation and hoping that her boredom doesn't show on her face. This kind of idle chit chat isn't really her cup of tea.

Then it's another commercial, and as an assistant brings Kari her coffee, she tells Natasha, "A couple more questions and then you're done."

The countdown begins again and Natasha steels herself against the burst of light that heralds the camera's attention returning to her.

"What do you like to do with your free time, now that you have it?"

"I spar with my teammates often, and I'm in the gym a lot. Otherwise, I work with Darcy and some of the others, helping to plan appearances like this. And we do things as a team, too, like we try and eat meals together as often as possible. I enjoy helping with the cooking, but Steve does a lot of it. He apparently taught himself to cook pretty soon after he was unfrozen."

"Okay, and one last question. What's your opinion on the controversy over your team members, the suspected terrorist Loki and Bruce Banner, better known as the menace called the 'Hulk?'"

Natasha wants to address the 'menace' and 'terrorist' comments (preferably with her fists), but she knows this isn't the time or place. Biting her tongue, then, she just answers, "I think both Loki and Bruce are good guys; we've done group sparring sessions where neither of them has had an issue mock-fighting the rest of us. And they're not too hard to live with either, the least messy, in my opinion."

"And that's Natalie Rushman, folks, say goodbye!"

"Thank you," Natasha grits out, and stands to leave her seat, passing by the next guest on her way backstage to collect her purse.

She's digging out her phone to call the driver when somebody hisses at her, "No talking back here!"

So she takes her phone and goes to the elevator, dialing the number on the card and waiting in the lobby, shifting impatiently from foot to foot, until she sees the black car pull up out front.

Hurrying out, she opens her own damn door and gets in, slumping against the headrest.

"Rough time, ma'am?" the driver asks.

"Yeah." Because she'd welcome the distraction from her own thoughts (self-criticism never does her any good, but that doesn't stop her from thinking about it), she says, "You can turn the radio on if you want, I don't care what it is."

He flips it on to a jazz station, and that serves to calm Natasha down.

When they pull up to the Tower, she thanks him and goes inside, wanting to get out of her heels and uncomfortable dress, and wash the unfamiliar makeup off her face.

That done, she slides into sweatpants and an old t-shirt and heads for the common floor.

As she expected, a group of her teammates (_Friends?_) is waiting for her there, and she heads for the fridge, pulling out the environmentally friendly plastic water bottle with her name written on it (something that Steve had purchased and installed and nobody had seen any reason to argue—it does mean fewer glasses to wash) and downing half of its contents before turning to them.

"You did a good job, Nat!" Darcy enthuses.

"Thanks. I tried. It wasn't as bad as I thought it'd be, I guess. And hey, Steve, did you have to wear makeup on TV last week?"

He turns red, "Yeah."

"'S nothing to be embarrassed about," Clint declares. "You should hear about all the times I wore guyliner for missions and shit. Kinda fun, actually."

"I'd pay to see that," Darcy muses under her breath.

"I've got pictures," Natasha informs her wickedly.

"Ooh, really? You're gonna share, right? You can't just say that and then _not_ share!"

"Relax, Darcy, I'll let you see them. Just let me go get them."

"You do that," Darcy grins.

Clint rolls his eyes, unembarrassed.

Natasha drains her water bottle and sets it next to the kitchen sink, heading for the staircase.

Tony trails after her.

After waiting a moment to make sure he's not just going to his lab or something, she asks, "Can I help you, Tony?"

"Yeah, uh. Here's the thing."

He stops talking, and she prompts, "Yeah?"

"Wanna have dinner some time?"

"You're asking me out," she states flatly.

_Huh, I never really considered that._

"Yeah, I am." For all his awkward stumblings, he doesn't pussyfoot around that statement, and she makes an abrupt decision based on that assertion. He's not asking her out as his rebound—if he was going to do that it would have been weeks ago—and she thinks it might be fun. And if it's not, then she'll have some pretty spectacular blackmail material, should she ever need it.

"One date, and not here. No paparazzi. And then we'll talk. Deal?"

"It's okay, just for— Whoa. What? You're saying 'yes?'"

"Was I not clear?" If he's going to act this dumb, she's going to change her mind.

"Awesome. I'll make the plans and let you know. If that's okay...?"

"Fine by me, Tony."

He turns and goes through the access door on the floor that she's just passing by, and she's left to wonder what the hell just happened.

She's pretty sure she just agreed to go on a date with Tony Stark.

Which is odd.

Dazed, she digs the old photos of Clint (from before digital cameras were a constant thing; he'd bought her a camera the second Christmas they'd known each other and she repaid him by making him her main subject—he only pretends to mind) out of her emergency bag (yeah, they're some of the things she'd most want to keep if shit started going down), and heads back downstairs to show them off.

Tony hasn't rejoined the group, but everyone else is still there, presumably waiting for her.

Clint reaches over and snatches the top couple of pictures from her hand and shoves them under Darcy's nose, so close to her face that her eyes cross.

Darcy takes a step back and looks, scrutinizing closely. "You look good."

Natasha splits her handful in half and hands it to Steve and Bruce, going over and refilling her water bottle and sticking it back in the fridge.

Steve's smiling at the photos, and Bruce and Thor are sharing a chuckle over the ones they've been given, passing them on to Loki.

And they continue joking around for a while before they go their separate ways, Natasha taking the photos back to her room before heading to the gym with Steve and Clint.

They invite Loki to come along, and he says that he might be there in a while, he's not sure.

He does turn up after a bit, and he and Clint team up to attack Steve and Natasha, who fight back to back.

Loki's good in close quarters, and eventually trips Steve up, putting a knee on his chest and calling for his surrender.

Steve does so, laughing, and Natasha takes advantage of Clint's distraction to slip an arm around his neck.

He too gives up, and Natasha gives Loki a high five as they move over to work out individually.

She's never had this much company in the gym before (the silent SHIELD agents don't count), and she's grateful for the distraction.

Because otherwise, she'd have to wonder what the hell is going to happen with Tony.

* * *

**I'm pretty much in love with the word 'guyliner'...and Jeremy Renner wearing it.**

**Also, again, this TV host is a fictional product of my imagination.**

**So, who saw _that_ coming (I sure didn't...)?**


	8. Awkward

**My beta, dysprositos, is a saint. She deals with my inability to write _anything_ without having my hand held. She's pretty awesome.**

**Fair warning: this chapter features the most awkward conversation in the history of awkward conversations.**

* * *

"_Sir, Colonel Rhodes is calling. Should I put him through?"_

"_What the hell kind of question is that, JARVIS? You know what, I'm not even going to justify that with an answer."_

_Tony spun around in his chair to face the wall, where JARVIS obligingly projected the video call._

"_Honeybear!"_

"_Tony. To what do I owe this pleasure?"_

_Putting his hand over his heart, Tony turned his best mock-offended face on his best friend. "You mean I can't just call you to see how things are?"_

"_I guess so...but that's not what usually happens."_

"_No ulterior motive today, promise. I mean, didn't I have JARVIS ask you to call back at a good time for you? See, I'm growing up."_

_Rhodey pretended to faint, putting a hand over his forehead dramatically._

_Tony rolled his eyes.__ "Fuck you too, sweetheart."_

"_You know I'm messing with you. So how're things? Burned the Tower down yet? Plotted to murder any of your roommates? __No, wait, don't tell me, I can't go down as your accomplice. _Someone's_ got to keep hero-ing, after all.__"_

"_It's all good. I mean, the good citizens of New York are out for two of my houseguests' blood, but that seems to be pretty much par for the course __around here. God, I miss Malibu some days. __But__ we're handling it. How are you, buttercup?"_

"_I'm classified. But good. Looking like I might get back stateside in a few months."_

_Tony attempted to express his disdain for Rhodey's 'classified' with a look. Like, seriously, if he wanted to know what his best friend was up to, he could easily find out. But it was so much nicer (and perhaps less stalker-ish) to have it straight from the source._

"_And you're bringing the suit to Papa for a tuneup then, ye__ah__?"_

"_Hell, Tony, do you love me for me or my hardware? Wait, don't answer that, I don't want to know."_

"_Oh, sweet cheeks, you know I love you for your brain."_

_Rhodey rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Seriously, though, Tones, how are you? Coping?"_

"_I'm fine. Believe it or not, I actually had an adult conversation about breakups with B__anner__ the other day. Like with feelings and everything."_

"_Bet that was a new experience."_

"_I do have feelings, you know. And you just crushed them." Tony clutched at his chest._

"_I strongly doubt that. You've never given a shit for what I've said before. I'm glad to hear that, though. Pepper's a great woman and you're an okay guy, and I want the two of you to be able to get along without a huge elephant in the room."_

"_Hey, that's a good idea, next time I see her I can buy an elephant and put it in the room. Think she'll have a fit?"_

"_No, Tony. So, what else is new with you? Everything over here is just orders and whatever crappy TV I can find with my few minutes of downtime."_

_Tony shrugged before suggesting exuberantly,__ "Oh, hey, you should meet the gang! J, tell them to get their asses in the living room, team meeting or whatever."_

_Tony transferred the visual of Rhodey onto his tablet, heading for the elevator._

"_Master Thor and Dr. Banner are not in at the moment, but everyone else is en route, sir."_

"_Thanks, J."_

"_Hey, JARVIS, Tony treating you right? You're always welcome to come work with me if you ever get sick of that son of a bitch."_

"_I do appreciate the offer, Colonel Rhodes, but I am quite satisfied with my current position. Most of Mr. Stark's friends have class."_

"_That was an insult! I'm offended!"_

"_Grow up, man."_

_Tony stepped off the elevator and hurried into the living room, swiping a finger across the tablet to project Rhodey onto the TV._

_The movement would give most people motion sickness, but Rhodey bore it with an eye roll, his flight training making him accustomed to such things._

_Tony introduced him to Clint and Steve, already in the room, and had to hold back chuckles at Steve's rigid military bearing. __At least until__ Clint knocked the wind out of Steve and made him act normally._

_Loki and Rhodey glared at each other, and if Tony had to award a prize for best death glare, only the fact that Rhodey was his best friend would have broken the tie._

_So, to lower the tension, Tony babbled about Loki (although he may have called him 'Gandalf') and the assistance he'd promised to give on a project until Rhodey relented and quit glaring at the demigod._

_Natasha came in, and Rhodey fixed her with a look, too, before playing nice. Of course they'd met before, Tony didn't know how that had slipped his mind, but she didn't seem to mind his suspicion of her._

_Darcy greeted Rhodey and then went back to whatever the hell it was that she was doing on her tablet; Tony wasn't sure if she was busy or if that was an insult to Rhodey's friendliness. __Probably the first thing, __because__ Rhodey's cuddliness was damn obvious._

_After his friends had met, Tony took his call back down to the lab and chatted with Rhodey for a few more minutes before his best friend said that he needed to get some sleep, but that he hoped to see Tony soon._

_And Tony hoped to see him soon, too. For all that he enjoyed having the team living with him, he did miss having Rhodey around._

* * *

Tony walks without any clear direction, still in shock over what had just happened.

He just asked Natasha out.

But the weird part was that she said 'yes.'

"JARVIS, did she really just say that she would go out to dinner with me?"

JARVIS's voice sounds faintly long-suffering. "She did indeed, sir. Would you like me to replay the audio?"

Tony doesn't think he's quite at _that _level of disbelief yet, so he declines.

Eventually he wanders into his lab and sits down in his chair hard.

"Wow."

"I offer my congratulations, sir."

"It's just one date, J, don't go breaking out the champagne yet. There's a good chance that she'll hate me and never speak to me again after."

"Pessimism does not suit you, sir."

"Nobody asked you."

Tony picks up his tools, makes a few abortive attempts at his work, and then sighs heavily.

"I'm going out, J, tell someone so they don't worry."

Heading up to his personal floor, where he has hardly been spending any time since the others moved in, he quickly walks along the platform, keeping his steps even and his balance on point as the robotic arms suit him up.

As the faceplate slides shut, he fires the thrusters and lifts off, taking to the skies.

Flying around aimlessly for a few hours calms him, and he finally turns towards home after dark when the grumbling of his stomach gets too loud for him to ignore.

The look on the night employee's face as he goes through the fast-food drive-thru is priceless, though, and if it wouldn't be an infringement on the poor guy's privacy Tony would totally have a picture taken and framed.

But it would be, and he's not in the mood for being sued, so he contents himself with his double cheeseburger, fries, and shake, touching down on a nearby rooftop so he can eat before his food gets cold.

After he's polished off the burger and dipped most of his fries in the shake (easier to manage in the suit than ketchup, and it's fucking awesome, besides), he goes home.

Quietly removing his suit, he slips to his room and falls facedown on the bed, still fully-clothed.

He manages to toe off his shoes before he falls asleep, but that's it.

* * *

Fast forward a few days, and Tony's gone out to volunteer with Bruce, Thor, and Steve, which turns out to be more fun than he expected. Also, he's picked out a nice, upscale (but not too much) restaurant outside the city where they should be (hopefully) assured of their privacy.

And after checking with Natasha to make sure the day is good for her, he calls in the reservation.

So this is how he comes to be standing in front of his closet, indecisive, in the middle of the afternoon, with almost an hour and a half before he is supposed to leave.

_Dressy? Casual? Tie? No tie?_

There are so many options (_Why the hell does he have _this_ many clothes?_), and he is beginning to wonder if calling the whole damn thing off might not just be easier when there's a knock on his door.

"Yeah?"

Clint walks around the door and heads to flop down on Tony's bed, putting his booted feet on the nice (_Clean_? at least Tony thinks so) covers.

This is fairly strange behavior for the archer, who has not shown much inclination towards spending time with Tony. "Can I help you, Barton?"

"Tasha kicked me out and I figured you'd probably be in need of a quick chit-chat."

"She told you?" Somehow, even in the face of Clint's not-so-thinly-veiled threat, that's all Tony can think to say. Because he hasn't planned on telling the team; Thor and Bruce didn't say anything until they were sure that shit was going to work out with them, and Tony thinks that's the best way to go.

Clint laughs, tossing his head back, long and full and hearty. After a moment, he sobers, "You're serious? Oh, that's cute, you think she can keep things from me."

Tony doesn't think there's a response to that.

Clint's not looking for one, apparently, because he doesn't seem fazed by Tony's silence. "I'm not going to give you the shovel speech because a. I won't demean Nat like that, but I will totally finish the job if necessary, just fyi, and b. because you should be smart enough to know better. The hell's your IQ anyway?"

Tony knows that it's in his file, and he knows that Clint has read said file. He continues looking through his closet, trying to sort through his options.

"Okay, so, I can see we're gonna have to do this the hard way." Clint kicks his legs out and flips up to stand, walking over to hip check Tony out of his way so that he can see into the black hole of clothing possibilities.

Rooting through Tony's closet, Clint selects a pair of khakis and a navy button-down, holding them up to Tony and nodding.

"Casual's probably your best bet. You don't want her to feel like it's a job. She might accidentally kill you."

Tony says nothing, not sure if Clint's being serious or not. The mindset he's in, anything's possible.

"Lighten up, man, can't you take a fucking joke? I mean, fuck, it's just _Natasha_. All joking aside, she's not really out to get you. All that tough shit is just an act; she really just has no fucking clue how to act around normal people. You get that, don't you? I mean, being a loaded, reclusive inventor and all."

"...Yeah." That actually makes a lot of sense, but what the hell is _Barton _doing giving Tony advice?

"Okay, good. Well, I'm apparently as 'annoying as fuck,' so I'll just get out of your hair then. Word of advice, though, don't be late. She hates that."

Clint starts for the door, leaving the pants draped over Tony's arm and the shirt hanging from his hand. The 'genius' himself is dumbstruck, speechless.

Then he startles into action, turning to call after the archer. "Wait!"

Raising an expectant eyebrow, Clint does just that.

"I just... Why are you helping me?"

"Because Tasha's my best friend, and because I think maybe you two have got a chance. And because Thor and Bruce are getting almost unbearably lovey, and we need another couple or two around here to balance shit out."

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh. I'm not actually a dick, you know. I just act like one most of the time. It's a defense mechanism or some shit, some therapist said. Go figure. So, uh, get ready, Stark."

With one last wave, Clint's out the door and Tony's alone, with plenty to think about.

But thinking time is later, and he scrambles into action, tossing the clothes onto his bed (careful avoid the dirty spot he can see from where Clint put his damn boots) and going into the bathroom.

After his shower, he feels more human, and he carefully styles his hair before putting on the clothes Clint had picked out for him. It's a little more dressed-down than he would have chosen, but that's probably better, really; he's not going to the Hilton or anything. And over-dressing might be bad. Would probably be bad. So he'll go with Barton's choices, after all. He knows what Natasha likes, if anyone does at all, right?

"How much time do I have left, J?"

"If you wish to leave with an optimal amount of time to arrive shortly before your reservation, you have twenty minutes, sir."

_Damn_. That's too much time for him to sit around and worry.

He spins to the window and puts it on opaque, pulling up a blank document and starting to tool around, relaxing into the familiar motions of creation.

The small clock in the bottom corner of the screen is a constant, but small, presence in his mind, and when seventeen minutes have elapsed, he saves his rough sketch and heads for the elevator, nervously smoothing his goatee in the reflection from the doors.

The elevator stops on Natasha's floor, and she steps on. Tony quickly whips his hand away from his face, interlacing his fingers behind his back.

"Hi."

"Hey."

The elevator descends in silence for a moment, before Tony decides, "Fuck it, this is really damn awkward. Let's start over. Hello, Natasha, you look lovely this evening." And she really does. Her dress is dark purple with some sort of gold glittery overlay; it's subtle, but he likes it.

She smiles, "Thank you, Tony." Then she smirks a little and asks, "Did Clint pick out your clothes?"

"...Yes. Are you psychic?"

"No, he just has this inexplicable fondness for navy shirts, and so I figured. It's a little less dressy than your usual."

"Oh. He halfway gave me the shovel speech, you know."

"Only halfway?"

"He said he'd be insulting your ability to take care of yourself if he implied that he would be needed. Or something like that. I think I agree with him."

"That's sweet. Remind me to thank him for it. At breakfast. In front of the others."

"Yes, ma'am. Sounds like a plan."

They lapse back into silence for a moment before the elevator doors open. Natasha's walking slightly ahead of Tony, and when they reach the back entrance she holds the door open for him.

"Thanks." He nods to the driver and gets the car door for her.

"I figured you'd drive," she says.

"I was planning on it, but I thought we'd probably have a few drinks with dinner or something and I didn't want to be driving after that. So I'm planning ahead."

"Okay," she shrugs. "So where are we going exactly? You never said."

"A steakhouse. I mean, you do like steak, right?" This is something he hasn't actually considered, and thinks that maybe he should have.

"Tony, relax. I'm not going to bite you. ...Unless you want me to. And yes, I do like steak. There's not much food I _won't _eat, to be honest. Job hazard."

He rolls his eyes but figures he probably deserved that. "So what's the weirdest thing you've ever eaten?"

"This is going to sound strange, but it was actually escargot. It was slimy and disgusting, and while I have eaten stranger things, I can just never eat snails again." She shudders.

"French food's never really been my thing. Except for french fries, but I don't think those count."

"They don't. How about you, you've traveled a lot?"

"I've never been really partial to lamb. I think that's because I had just seen a movie where the main character was a sheep or something, and then we had lamb for dinner and my dad told me that I was eating a baby sheep."

She winces sympathetically.

"So, uh, I know your taste in weaponry but not much else. What do you like to do with your spare time?"

"I like to read. And watch bad TV, although that's really Clint's fault. He felt silly watching shitty shows by himself so he roped me in and before you know it, we're both hooked. But I never read much as a child, so I'm enjoying reading some of the Russian classics now that I can."

"Never read much of those... Tolstoy's pretty much the only name I know, sorry."

"Don't apologize, not a lot of people have. It can be kind of off-putting; I don't think that a short-winded Russian author ever existed. I mean, you could use most of those books as dumbbells."

"Do you?"

"What? No," she laughs, her whole posture changing, relaxing.

"Well, why not? You just said you could!"

"Because they're not proportioned properly to use as weights; your hands would get tired from having to be flexed in such a weird position. And you could wrap a belt around them, I suppose, but that would be awkward, too."

"Just an idea," he smiles. "So what else do you like?"

This is the most awkward conversation Tony has ever had, but he's genuinely enjoying himself. And Natasha doesn't seem to be on any more un-awkward footing than he is, so that's good. But she is smiling a lot more than usual, and her body language is more relaxed.

She answers, "I like spending time in the gym. I've always exercised often, to the point now where it feels strange to _not _spend time working out every day."

"But you couldn't work out when you were on missions and shit, could you?" Tony hopes that's not a sore subject.

"Not in a gym, but I could still do basic exercises when I got out of bed in the morning, and I tried to be on my feet as often as possible. I didn't have to run all those errands when I was working for you, you know. I wanted to. Wanted to keep moving and all that."

"That's good. I'm glad you got the opportunity for that."

"I do try. So how about you? Talking just about me is going to get boring pretty quickly."

"Uh, I don't think I've read a paper-and-ink book in years, but I do read scientific journals, usually on a tablet. I prefer getting out there and moving around in the suit to working out inside, but I had to before I could wear the suit the first time. God, that thing is fucking heavy."

"I can imagine. You haven't been going out flying as often since we moved in, though. You used to fly over the city almost every day."

That was when he was running simple, danger-free maintenance jobs on the Tower.

"Uh, yeah, I guess so. Been working out inside a bit more often, sparring with Steve and shit, but I should probably do more. Don't want to get out of shape."

And they keep talking, easier now that they've gotten most of the awkwardness out of the way, until they reach the restaurant.

The driver offers to drop them off at the main door, and Tony looks to Natasha to see if that's what she'd prefer, but she says that she can walk.

So he parks the car and they get out. Tony offers Natasha his arm, and she loops hers through it lightly. The driver locks the car and follows them towards the entrance.

Natasha angles her head in his direction, a silent question, and Tony answers, "He's gonna eat inside, too, 's not fair to make him hang out in the damn car for however long."

"That's good of you."

"I'm not a douchebag, really. Well, most of the time, anyway."

"I think most people are like that. At the risk of sounding cliché, nobody's perfect."

"True."

A table is ready for them, and they take their seats on opposite sides of it, the driver going over to his own table.

Tony rolls his shirtsleeves up and then looks the menu over. He's already got an idea of what he wants to order, but he wants to see if anything else looks better.

Nothing does, so he sets it on the table and watches Natasha, who is still reading her menu.

_Okay, that's not creepy at all_, Tony realizes and picks up the wine list to give himself something to do.

Their server comes by, and Tony orders the house red.

Natasha raises an amused eyebrow at him, "Slumming it?"

"I doubt they carry my brand. And besides, trying new things is fun, right?"

"Whatever," she retorts, but she's smiling.

Their wine is brought over, and it's not as shitty as Tony would have thought it would be. They order, and then, shifting, Tony accidentally kicks Natasha under the table.

"Shit, I'm so sorry. I swear that was an accident."

"Sure, Stark. All part of your evil plan for world domination, lure me out here and then kick me to death. Then you'll only have five more Avengers to get through."

"Pretty sure that if I wanted you dead, I could have arranged that without dragging you anywhere, but uh, yeah. Why are we talking about this again?"

"Because you just kicked me."

And Tony apologizes again and they move on, talking about other things. When their food comes, she ribs Tony about liking his steak so lightly cooked that she says it's practically alive.

He turns his head for a moment, and then he hears a cow low. He snaps his head back around so fast he's surprised he doesn't hit something with it.

She giggles and holds up her phone in explanation. He mock glares at her, and reaches to steal a bite of her steak, and pretends to whine about the toughness of it, chewing exaggeratedly.

And she's got a healthy appetite, doesn't pull any of that hardly eating bullshit he's seen women do when they're trying to impress a guy (which seriously doesn't work, all it does is make Tony wonder how they manage to function if their caloric intake is _that _low).

When they're done, Tony pays for their check and his driver's, and they head back out to the car. He's had just enough to drink to where he's more relaxed, but he's still got all of his fine motor functions and everything. Natasha loops her arm back through his, but she seems to be similarly unaffected.

The ride back home is quiet, but not awkward. It's a companionable silence. Tony thinks he could get used to this.

And when they reach the Tower, they take the elevator up together. At Natasha's floor, she turns to him and states seriously, "This is where I get off, Tony. But I don't think a second date would be out of the question. I had fun."

Getting into her pants is one of the furthest things from Tony's mind, really (he'd be lying if he said he _didn't_ want into them, but he knows that's not gonna happen for a while, and he's cool with that), and he's almost offended that she would think that, but then he remembers that the majority of her experience with him was during his downward spiral when he figured, 'fuck it, I'm gonna die anyway, might as well go out on top,' and that first impressions can be hard to shake.

So he just looks at her and replies, "I had fun, too. And that sounds like a plan. See you tomorrow at breakfast?"

"Sure." She leans up and kisses his cheek softly before striding briskly down the hall towards her room.

He heads up to his and pulls off his clothes, actually putting them in the laundry chute for once (also tossing in the sheet that Clint had defiled with his muddy boots), and then he shoots off a quick message to Rhodey: 'Went on a date tonight, honeybunch. Sorry it wasn't with you.'

Not expecting a reply, he calls for JARVIS to turn the lights off and goes to sleep, happy.

* * *

**Pretty sure I speak for both dysprositos and myself when I say that fries dipped in milkshakes are awesome. Try it sometime.**

**Love it? Hate it? Indifferent?**


	9. Readjustment

**As always, my beta, dysprositos, is the absolute best. She assures me that this chapter is decent, despite the fact that I'm _really_ not its biggest fan.**

**Uh, there are some mature thematic mentions up in here, just fyi.**

* * *

_It had been the kind of date she'd always kind of secretly wanted, where it was simple and easy, and she didn't feel the pressure to put on her perfect, seductive face._

_And somehow, Tony had known what she'd like, had anticipated her preferences._

_It's in most of the American popular culture, the movies and TV shows__. __T__he ideal dinner date__.__ Natasha would never admit to wanting it exactly that way (she can open her own damn doors and pay for her own meal if she so pleases, thank you very much), but she did want to know what it felt like to go out to dinner with a person whom she liked, and have fun._

_Going out with Clint was never the same; she wasn't interested in him like that. __And vice versa.__ So sure, they'd pretend to go on dates while really mocking all the other people in the restaurant, but going out to dinner with a romantic intent, not __as__ a job, just plain _Natasha_, was something she'd always wanted._

_And never thought she'd get._

_But then Tony had asked her out. And she'd gone._

_And _had a good time_._

_So standing in the elevator with him after they'd gotten back from the steakhouse, Natasha didn't know quite what to do with herself. __The proper way to act, because on this date, unlike any of the others she'd been on in the past, she _was not_ going to fuck him._

_So__ she didn't know how she should be feeling._

_So she lashed out instead__. W__here she could have, _should have_ simply made the boundaries clear, she was rude.__  
_

_Instantly, she regretted it, trying to cover up her faux pas with a sincere compliment. Tony didn't seem to mind, nor did he attempt to press her boundaries._

_She was grateful, and she reached up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, trying to express this, before walking quickly down the hall and to her bedroom._

_She didn't dare look back._

_And there was no need to; she heard the elevator doors slide shut shortly before she turned the doorknob of her room._

_Walking in and through the silent living room to her bedroom, she stepped out of her shoes, considering throwing them at the lump that was Clint, asleep in her bed. She was in a good mood, though, and decided against it._

_She'd known he was in the suite,__ had known as soon as __she came through the front door and saw his boots lying on the floor of her entranceway. It would seem messy, disorderly, to almost anyone else, but Natasha appreciated the sign, his way of announcing his presence._

_Of course she would have heard his breathing once she got a little further in, but th__e__ immediate knowledge helped settle her._

_Trying to be quiet, she slipped out of her dress and hung it back in the closet, pulling her pajama shirt__—__actually stolen from Clint a few years back__—__over her head and going into the bathroom._

_Clint knew she was there __(__he would have woken up the moment her tread, made heavier than normal as a warning, entered the bedroom__)__, but she still closed the bathroom door before turning on the light as a courtesy._

_Washing her face and brushing her teeth quickly, she went out to slip into bed next to Clint, elbowing him when it became clear that he'd left her hardly any room._

_He grunted and moved over, and then grunted again, this time sounding questioning rather than disgruntled._

"_It went fine. Better than fine, really. We'll talk tomorrow. Go to sleep, _брат_."_

_They do._

* * *

Natasha wakes up alone, slightly later than usual, and goes through her morning routine quickly. She puts on real clothes, like pants, and then takes the stairs down to the common area, hungry.

Most of the others are already in the kitchen, and Natasha weaves around bodies to get to the coffeemaker, pouring herself a cup and then leaning against the counter.

Tony nods to her from his position next to Darcy at the stove (_Who let them cook together? __How could _that_ possibly go wrong?_), and Natasha smiles back, quickly tipping her coffee cup up to her face to conceal the reaction.

They had mutually agreed to keep their date last night to themselves (well, Clint knows about it, but he doesn't really count), at least until they know if a relationship will work out between them or not.

Bruce and Thor come into the kitchen together, looking like they've just rolled out of bed (both sporting rather impressive cases of bedhead); their hands locked together.

There's no room for them in the already crowded press of bodies, and they simply call their good mornings, ask if they can help (and are turned down), and head to the dining room.

Natasha decides that's a good idea, and she follows them, squeezing Clint's arm as she passes him. Loki follows her, sitting down next to his brother and asking the couple a question about their plans for the day.

The food's done moments later, and they settle down to eat, conversation minimal as everyone digs in.

It's good to see that she and Tony can still function within the larger framework of the team without any difficulty, and something's crossed off the list she's been unconsciously keeping.

* * *

The days go by, and she and Tony don't spend much time together; the merchandise line Stark Industries is creating goes to the market and he makes several appearances to help promote that, taking Steve along. He even buys the supersoldier an Iron Man figurine (Steve has tried to not look at the Captain America merchandise, painful memories and all that, Clint explains to her in confidence).

Natasha finds a Black Widow action figure on her bed the same evening Steve had come home with his collectible, and she smiles, bending its legs and setting it on her nightstand so that it's sitting down with its back against her lamp.

So he's busy, and she spends most of her time with Clint, going out and spending several hours at a time assisting at the construction sites. He asks for a play-by-play of her date, and she gives him most of the details ("It took us _forever_ to find something we could talk about, but I did have a good time.") without much fuss, as he was such a great factor in her going out on a date in the first place.

One evening though, Tony disappears to his workshop after dinner and Natasha lingers for a little with the others before making her excuses and grabbing a yogurt cup from the fridge and taking the stairs up to his lab.

"Hey," she calls from the doorway, and he swivels around in his chair to grin at her.

"Natasha, come on in."

She indicates her snack, "D'you mind if I eat in here?"

"Don't spill it on anything important, but I don't care otherwise."

She has no intention of spilling her food, attempting to convey that with a disdainful look, and she hops up onto a clear tabletop, swinging her legs and pulling the top off her yogurt.

"What're you doing?" she asks.

"Just looking over some of the sale figures. Wanna see?"

Without waiting for an answer, he magnifies the screen at his workstation, showing her the graphs, broken down by which Avenger each bar represents.

Unsurprisingly, Tony (red and gold stripes) and Steve (blue) rate the highest, although Natasha is surprised to see that her own black bar is not too far behind. Clint (purple) and Thor (red) are shortly under her, and Hulk (green, obviously) merchandise is not doing really well.

"Do you have any plans to try and raise sales for Bruce and Thor? And what about Loki? He getting in on this? I don't think it's fair, that the rest of us get our faces plastered everywhere and he gets to sit it out."

"Yeah, Darcy's getting Bruce the next TV spot, and then right after we're going to release 'Dr. Banner Chemistry Sets.' Not necessarily accurate, but easier for kids to get than nuclear physics. And we're going to get some group pictures made, just everyone casual, for a t-shirt design, and of course Bruce will be Bruce on those. And once Loki's got a little more good press, we're going to put out his merch, too. So it hopefully won't be long."

"Sounds like you've got everything under control. Do you need me to go get out of your hair?"

"Nah, you're fine. Everything's good, I was mostly stroking my ego more than anything."

"You admit to doing that?"

"Sure, why the hell not? S'not like you're gonna mock me or anything, right?" Underneath his flippant tone is a genuine question.

She answers it, "Of course not."

Silence falls for a minute before Tony asks, "Wanna do dinner again, or wanna shake it up?"

"Shake it up how, exactly?" Natasha is intrigued, but cautious.

"How do you feel about Coney Island? You like amusement parks?" Tony sounds eager, excited.

"Never really been to one actually."

"That settles it then, uh, unless you have an objection?"

She does, actually. "Uh, I thought we were supposed to be staying under the radar until we were sure this was gonna work out? Can you _imagine_ what jerks like that interviewer would say if we were seen out on a date only to never go out again?"

Tony stands up and is in her space quickly. Reaching in slowly, he presses his lips to hers briefly.

"This is corny as hell, but can you feel that? I don't think we're gonna get tired of each other any time soon, not with chemistry like that."

"Maybe you'd better try again. I don't know if I felt it the first time..."

"Asshole," he mutters under his breath as he leans in again, for a longer kiss this time. Her hand comes up to rest on the back of his neck, the other one holding her abandoned yogurt container, and his rest on her hips.

When she needs to breathe, she pulls back and lets her forehead rest on his.

"I'm not sure if I like your logic, but sure. Let's do this. Just... let's try to _not_ attract attention, okay?"

"Well, I won't wear my neon flashing hat that declares I'm Tony Stark. I'll just wear the one with the giant arrow pointing at my face."

She swats at his shoulder and shoves him back gently so she can slide off the counter.

"Guess we'd better tell the others, huh?"

"Let's not tell them, let's just let them figure it out, yeah?"

"How? You gonna just sit in my lap or something, Stark? That might be a little too subtle."

He kisses her again, bending down slightly to accommodate the fact that she's not in heels.

"I see your point," she says, pulling back, breathless. She's never been kissed like this. Even men—jobs—kissed like it was just the first step in getting to their real goal, her in bed. This _passion_ is new. But not bad. Not bad at all.

"Good. Now, J, shut all this down. Time for me to go to bed. I need my beauty rest, ya know."

"Certainly, sir. I doubt its effectiveness, though."

"Shut the hell up, JARVIS. You don't know what you're talking about." To Natasha, he adds, "Walk you to the stairs?"

"Sure," she answers, slipping her free hand through his.

It's more than a little silly, but she finds that she doesn't mind.

* * *

The next morning, Natasha runs a mile on the treadmill after she gets up, glad to have the gym to herself.

Her shower delays her, so she's the last one to breakfast, and everyone else is already sitting around the table.

There's an empty chair next to Tony, and she heads for it, bracing a hand on his shoulder and bending down for a quick kiss before sitting down.

Conversation stops immediately.

She has to stifle her smile.

"Took you long enough, damn," Clint announces.

"Congratulations!" Thor declares. "I hope you will be as happy as Bruce and I are."

Bruce rolls his eyes but adds, "Ditto."

"Thanks a lot, Banner, I'm really feeling the love over here, Jesus," Tony complains.

"Unfortunately, I have yet to find out what makes him shut up," Natasha comments.

Tony leans over for another kiss, and when he pulls away and goes to say something, she slaps her hand over his mouth. "Keep your vulgarity to yourself, it's too damn early for that."

"Mmph!" he protests, and she rolls her eyes.

"That seems to work," Steve offers with a smile, and a part of Natasha relaxes, the part that still wants to please her superiors. That's another thing on her list checked off, then.

Loki and Darcy add their congratulations (he more calmly than she), and Darcy wants to know how long this has been going on.

"Few days now, but he's supposed to be taking me out today, I think, and there's a decent chance we'll be paparazzi'd, so we figured you guys should be the first to know."

Tony licks her hand, apparently tired of being silent, and she snatches it back, reaching over to wipe it off on his shirt.

"Real mature," she admonishes. "Glad to know I'm dating such an adult."

Tony appears to actually bite his tongue to keep from saying something insulting, and Natasha reaches for the bowl of muffins on the table and asks Steve to pass the butter.

Conversation resumes, and Natasha is content to listen while she eats, but after she has a couple muffins in her stomach and it's no longer demanding her attention, she waits for a break in the conversation to insert, "Clint gave Tony the shovel speech. I don't know whether to be flattered or insulted."

"Hey! I did not, is that what he told you? Asshole, I said she could take care of herself, but I'd be happy to help her hide the body."

"He told me that, Clint, relax. I thought it was sweet, actually."

Darcy looks up from the tablet she's been hiding under the edge of the table, although that fooled exactly nobody, and asks, "You're going out today?"

"That was the plan," Tony answers her seriously.

"Okay, Bruce has his interview tonight, about dinnertime. I was hoping," her voice changes from businesslike to slightly plaintive, "to get everyone together to watch again. Thor's gonna need some moral support, after all."

"That sounds like fun, Darcy. I'm pretty sure we can be home by then, right, Tony?"

"Whatever. Team comes first, yeah?"

"That's how we see it," Bruce offers, and Natasha notices that one of his hands, as well as one of Thor's, are not visible, probably linked together under the table.

"That's settled, then," Tony declares. "Will you be good to leave in a half-hour, Natasha?"

"Sure thing."

He stands up and leaves the room quickly. Natasha finishes up her muffin and quickly eats another one, before rising and taking her dishes as well as Tony's (_He'll take mine in after dinner_, she decides) to the kitchen.

"Come on, Barton," she calls back into the dining room. "Gonna need you to put sunscreen on my back."

"Yes, mistress," he yells back. "Be there in a minute."

* * *

In her room, she quickly changes clothes out of her workout outfit into shorts and a tank top. Ordinarily, she'd shower, but she'd just be sweaty again within a few minutes, so there's no point, really.

She digs around in her cosmetics bag until she finds the sunscreen and starts applying it to her face and legs.

When Clint comes in, she throws the bottle at his face (he catches it in midair, one-handed) and pulls her hair off her shoulders into a ponytail so that he can do her back.

He works efficiently, and asks if she's okay with all this. For someone who's about to have the whole world know the identity of her boyfriend, she surprisingly is.

Quickly rubbing the lotion down her arms, she looks around in her clothes for a hat.

Finding none, she turns to Clint, washing his hands off in her bathroom. "Damn, my hats must still be at SHIELD HQ with the rest of the nonessential shit we left there when we quit. Do you have one I can borrow?"

He does, and she threads her ponytail through the back of the ballcap and twirls.

"Looking good, Tasha. I probably won't see you tonight, I think I'm going to go with Bruce to his thing. Steve wants someone to go, I think, but he's not really comfortable going himself. And Thor can't go, obviously."

Natasha nods. "That's good of you. See you later, then."

He leaves and she grabs her sunglasses and considers taking her phone. She decides against it, and goes to the elevator, knowing that she's going to be doing plenty of walking today.

Down in the lobby, she leans up against a pillar to wait for Tony.

She's excited, more than she's willing to show.

He comes down a few moments later, wearing jeans and a short-sleeved t-shirt, and they leave.

* * *

"I'm not carrying the fucking teddy bear inside, you're the one who won it in the first place! Can you imagine what Barton will say?"

"Probably be too busy laughing his ass off to say anything, honestly."

"Anybody ever tell you that you are an evil, evil person, Romanoff?"

"Few people. Just give me the goddamn bear, if it's that demeaning to you."

Walking through the doors into the Tower after their date, Natasha snatches the bear from Tony. In truth, she rather likes it and would prefer to hang onto it.

They'd come in by the back entrance, and she'd seen Tony, who was carrying it, eyeing the dumpster outside thoughtfully.

So taking it back is probably the safer course of action, if she wants the bear to survive the night.

Their outing had gone well. She'd been on a few rides that she'd never had the opportunity to ride before ("You've _never_ been on a Ferris wheel, Nat, are you shitting me?"), and she'd eaten some deep-fried food.

Whoever came up with the idea of deep-frying bananas was a fucking genius, she had decided after her first bite.

And she _knew_ there had been paparazzi, but they'd managed to remain invisible (and she hadn't been looking all that hard, preferring to retain the illusion of privacy).

"Ugh, I smell. I'm gonna go grab a shower before Bruce's interview comes on. You probably should as well," she calls as she hurries through the door of the stairwell.

"You telling me that I stink, Romanoff?" Tony yells after her, a note of exasperation (fond, not real) in his voice.

* * *

Bruce's interview goes about as well as Natasha and Darcy had expected; he's silent on some topics, open on others, and he manages to keep a grimace off his face when Hulk's referred to as a monster. It's more self-control than Natasha thinks she would have in his place.

He comes home with Clint tired and withdrawn, and Thor quickly hustles his boyfriend off to his room so that Bruce can destress.

Natasha pushes up from her place on the sofa next to Tony, using her hand on his shoulder for balance, and offers to go make dinner.

Steve tries to get up and help, but Clint shoves him back down into his chair. "You do too fucking much, Steve. We're all grownups here, well, maybe not Stark, but the rest of us certainly are. We can take care of ourselves."

"Why am I not a grownup?" Tony wants to know.

"I saw the security footage, Stark. Nice bear."

Tony splutters, and Natasha beckons to Darcy, who obligingly gets up to come help. Hopefully there will be no fires with careful supervision of her cooking and no Loki around to help her get into mischief, because when he tries to follow, she points him back to his seat.

They cook quickly, not making anything fancier than a giant pot of spaghetti and microwaving the canned sauce from the refrigerator.

There's a large bag of rolls, and Darcy (who can be trusted to carry things about and use the microwave—Natasha cooks the pasta) takes them to the table along with the butter.

Thor and Bruce don't reappear for dinner, and when he's finished eating, Loki gets together two plates for them, taking them upstairs.

Everyone's quiet, subdued almost, and Natasha turns in early that evening, tired from her long day.

She does have Tony take her dishes to the kitchen, though.

* * *

A few more days pass, and pictures of them on their date appear in newspapers and on the internet. Natasha asks JARVIS to see if there are any flattering ones; she prints one off and leans it against the lamp on her nightstand, behind the action figure.

Tony seeks Natasha out more often and vice versa, to the point where they spend several hours together each day. He shows her a few things, lets her help him with his suit maintenance (which shows that he has a hell of a lot of trust in her—she's floored). When he does things too complicated for her to learn with just a quick tutorial, she brings a book in and talks to him over the music he keeps at a moderate volume out of respect for her.

He even comes to the gym some while she's in there, and she appreciates that he doesn't interfere with her workout.

They watch movies together in his living room, each sharing some of their favorites with the other, and discovering a shared love of Bond films.

So it's not really surprising when Natasha goes into her room one evening to find Clint sitting cross-legged on her bed, a book abandoned to his side. Waiting.

Kicking off her sneakers, she goes to sit next to him.

"Hey."

"Tasha."

She waits patiently. She has a fairly good idea about what's bothering him, but she needs him to come out and say it himself.

After a moment, he begins hesitantly, "It's just... You're spending all your time with Stark."

Gently, she corrects, "Not all, брат. We spent time in the gym together yesterday, just you and me. And we've eaten practically every meal together, Clint."

"I know that! I don't know. I guess I never thought you'd be as close with someone else as you are with me. And that's hard."

"I can see that, Clint. You've got a right to feel that way. You're always going to be my best friend. Nobody will ever replace you in that. I promise."

"You deserve to be happy, Nat, and I feel terrible for feeling like this."

"Don't. You've been through a lot lately, and it's a lot of change, a lot to take in. It's going to get better though. Isn't that what you told me all those years ago, when I was ready to die to escape my life as an assassin?"

"Yeah. You're right, Tasha."

"Besides, you've been spending time with Steve, haven't you?" she nudges his arm. "You can't tell me _that_'s not been going well."

"Nat, come on. It's nothing like that. I'm sorry for taking up your time like this, I'll just get out of your hair now."

"You're fine, Clint. I'll see you tomorrow, first thing. I'll kick your ass clear into next week, deal?"

"Deal," he smiles, and then gets up and heads into the hall.

She gets ready for bed quickly but lays awake for a while, thinking. Clint's right, maybe she needs to get a little distance.

In her experience, things that happen this quickly are unlikely to work out in the long run, after all.

* * *

брат is Russian for 'brother,' according to google translate. It felt accurate.

* * *

**One more chapter, I think! Dare I ask you to trust me...?**


	10. Hell of a Ride

**dysprositos is the best beta in the world. I am very lucky to be working with her.**

**This is the last chapter, folks, and it's the longest and also most dialogue-heavy one that I've ever written. Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

"We need to talk."

"That's never good. What's up, Nat?"

"I think we're moving too fast. No relationship I've ever seen that got to this level of togetherness this quickly ever lasted. Or was very healthy."

"...Oh."

"So I think we should take a break."

"If that's what you want."

"It's not what I want, but it's what I think is best. There's a distinction, damn it!"

"Well, we've got the group photoshoot tomorrow, but I'll head out to Malibu for a while after that. You guys should be able to manage without me. Give you some space."

"Okay, then."

"Sure thing."

Natasha leaves and Tony sits down hard, scrubbing his hands over his face.

_What the fuck just happened?_

* * *

At the group photoshoot, Natasha sticks close to Darcy until it's time for her to get out of the frame. Tony does the same, talking to Bruce on the other side of the room.

Everyone's giving the two of them strange looks, realizing that something's up, that for the publicly known couple (and previously PDA-happy) to be avoiding each other, but the photographer is professional enough to not attempt to force the 'couple' into any sort of stupid fucking something.

And they aren't the only ones acting oddly, as Bruce and Thor are doing the awkward 'we're not dating, just platonic teammates over here' dance, trying to stay away from each other.

So they take several photos with Loki and several without (partially because he insists—much to Thor's annoyance—and partially because he's right, they should, just for the sake of getting the new merchandise out there right now).

Natasha and Bruce sit in front of a solid line of men, Thor and Loki to one side, Steve and Clint to the other, Tony in the middle (on his tiptoes, although he'll never admit it).

When Loki leaves, Bruce scoots over and Tony sits down on the other side of him, casually throwing an arm over his shoulder (to demonstrate their togetherness and all that shit). But he almost hits Natasha's arm, so he snatches his back immediately like he's been burned.

And when it's all said and done, the photographer packing up and promising to send over the pictures by tomorrow so that they can determine which one(s) will go on the shirts, Natasha grabs a bag and heads out, probably desperate to get away from Tony.

Tony's gone before she gets home that evening.

* * *

'Sorry this is late. I was out. How'd your date go? With Romanoff, right?'

'Tony?'

'Tones?'

'Tony Stark, you answer me this minute. If you're dead, I will kill you myself.'

'JARVIS, what the hell's going on?'

_Sir has forbidden me from answering any personal queries, Colonel Rhodes. I am sorry that I cannot be of assistance. I am permitted to share that he has relocated to his Malibu residence, however._

'Pepper, sorry to bother you, but I can't get a hold of Tony. Do you know what's going on?'

* * *

"Mute. Tony, where the hell are you?" Pepper demands, standing in the open doorway (_Wasn't that closed and locked?_) of his lab in his Malibu.

"Here, Pep!" he slurs, tipping his bottle in her direction.

"Okay, you're alive. Good." She puts her phone to her ear and speaks into it quietly for a moment before hanging up and moving towards where Tony is slumped against the wall, a bottle held loosely in his hand.

He'd abandoned glasses a while back. They were too slow and messy. His scotch _should _be going in his mouth, not on the floor.

Snatching the bottle away, she briskly surveys the area for any others. He hasn't yet gotten the opportunity to open two, and she finds them both in seconds (_Hey, I thought I hid those... Oh yeah, figured I'd be too drunk to find them._).

"Are you some sort of ginger ninja or something? Hey, Nat's one of those too. Oh. Yeah. I'm not supposed to be thinking about her."

With all three bottles held away from her nice dress, she looks down at him, ignoring his rambling. "I'm taking these, Tony. Get up and go to bed. You need a shower, too, but the way you look right now, you'd probably slip and break your neck. I've got to get back to work; I've got the Board waiting on me right now. We're going to talk when you're sober."

"What...ever."

"Take care of him, JARVIS," she orders.

"I will endeavor to do my best, Ms. Potts."

Vaguely, as Tony's slipping out of consciousness, he hears her reply, "You always do. I can't stay, but somebody will be here soon."

* * *

He comes to briefly, upside down in a fireman's carry over someone's broad shoulder (_...not Pepper, then_).

Dumping him unceremoniously on his bed, Happy (or one of him, anyway, there appear to be three) says, "Go to sleep, Mr. Stark."

Tony does.

* * *

He wakes up with a groan, slitting his eyes open cautiously and taking in the amount of light in the room before slamming them back shut.

His hand is grabbed briskly and turned palm up, and two pills are dropped into it; a glass is pressed into the other one.

Blindly, he takes the medicine (the glass is snatched back before he can drop it...or throw it), and he turns away, rolling onto his side away from the window.

He's poked rather rudely in his spine.

"Wha?" he attempts to talk.

"Hey, Tones. Care to explain?" Rhodey asks, because of course it's Rhodey and not some nice sympathetic person like Steve, who would buy Tony's excuses and just let him wallow in his misery.

"No."

"Figured that." A phone is thrust into Tony's line of vision. "But I've got your girlfriend's number right here, and we can just call her..."

"Fucking JARVIS," Tony grumbles. "Fine. Coffee, then talk."

"Thought you'd say that, too."

Suddenly, the smell of coffee hits Tony's nose.

"But you've got to sit up to drink it, dumbass."

Tony struggles into a sitting position and wraps both of his hands around the steaming mug, sucking it down, uncaring of the fact that he's burning the roof of his mouth and tongue.

After he's finished off one cup, Rhodey takes the mug from him and pours another with the coffeepot he's apparently plugged into the wall of Tony's room, probably not trusting the steadiness of Tony's hand at the moment. (_He's not gonna spill hot coffee on me; that's a good sign, right?_)

When that cup's gone, too, Rhodey takes the mug away and states, "Get your ass in the shower, you reek. I'll go see about breakfast. We'll talk then."

And then he's gone.

Tony forces his limbs to cooperate and climbs out of bed, sitting back down on the edge to take his shoes off.

_How'd I get in here again?_

* * *

He feels significantly more human after he's clean, and he pulls on worn old jeans and a t-shirt, padding barefoot downstairs to the kitchen.

Rhodey slides an omelet on a plate across the table to him wordlessly, his own already halfway eaten, the hot sauce bottle standing ready (Tony will never understand that—hot sauce is good for many things, but not omelets).

"This feels like déjà vu. Pretty sure this is déjà vu. I've gotta know, did Pepper put you up to this?"

"Talking to you? Yeah, she did."

"Not that, the omelet thing!"

"What omelet thing?" Rhodey replies patiently.

Tony can't make this any more clear. "You know, the omelet thing!"

"No, I really _don't_ know, Tony. What I _do_ know is that you're changing the subject."

Tony tries to look innocent (and fails miserably). "Who, me?"

"Yeah, you. You know exactly what I'm talking about, asshole. Now explain why I had to push my leave up a month. The only reason I even got that was because I said it was because of issues with you, and the brass is still eager to kiss your ass. Why I came over to find you passed out and JARVIS worried half out of his mind. Why Pepper's _pissed_ at me."

"Uh, Pep should be pissed at me, not you."

Rhodey interrupts, "Oh, believe me, she _is_. And that wasn't the question."

Angrily, Tony spears two bites before answering. "Natasha broke up with me."

"That doesn't sound like the whole story," Rhodey says neutrally, taking a bite of his own.

"Well, she said some shit about us moving too fast and relationships that get that hot and heavy that quickly never fucking lasting or some shit. So she was cutting her losses then." Maybe he's misrepresenting what happened a little, stretching the truth, but he's pretty sure he was _dumped_, damn it, and he thinks he has a right to be angry.

"And that adds up to you being across the country from where you're supposed to be and drunk off your ass how?"

"I said I'd get out of her space. She obviously doesn't want me around. Doesn't need me around," his tone's fast approaching _whiny_, but he doesn't give a fuck.

"That's not what it sounds like to me. What exactly did she say about you coming out here?"

"...Well, nothing, really. I said I'd go, and I think she said 'okay.'"

"So she didn't ask you to go."

"That was definitely my idea."

"Tony Stark, for a genius you can be a real fucking dumbass. What the hell are you doing out here crying and licking your wounds when from the sound of it you've got a great woman waiting for you to convince her that sometimes good relationships _can_ happen quickly?"

"But she said—"

"But me no buts. Shut the hell up, sober your ass up, and _go home_. Use your grown-up intellect and the manners you've got to have lurking somewhere in there," Rhodey taps Tony's head and it reverberates in his skull; he glares. "And get your girl back."

"Huh."

"Yeah, huh. You're too old to need to be talked out of every single mess you make, Tones, and god knows I'm too old to do the talking. I've got to head to HQ for a bit, but if you're feeling up to it, and even if you aren't, you'd better apologize to Pepper. That was a real dick move, man. Making your ex come over to find you all but passed out in a drunken stupor. She got chewed out by the Board something terrible for coming to check on you when I texted her, you know. You'd better _grovel_. I don't know why in hell she keeps on putting up with your shit. She should've quit her job years ago, god knows she's got enough money to retire in style."

"Yeah." _So that _was_ Pepper._ He doesn't know whether to be relieved or angry. Well, she's probably angry enough for the both of them. Better to be relieved, then.

"I'll be back in a bit, and if you're not still sober I will _kick your ass_."

"Yeah, yeah, platypus."

"Don't you try to sweet-talk me. You've just essentially derailed two uninvolved persons' lives because you decided to throw a temper tantrum instead of talking to your girlfriend like a rational adult. I'm trying to be sympathetic because I know how your head feels right now, but it's not gonna last forever."

"You're the best, Rhodey."

"I know. Clean up your own shit, Tony. It's about damn time."

Dumping his plate in the sink, Rhodey leaves.

Left alone with his thoughts, Tony absently finishes eating his breakfast and then wanders over to the sink, washing the dishes and setting them in the drying rack he didn't know that he owned.

With that done, he goes back to the table and sits on the edge of it, pensive.

Suddenly, it occurs to him that he hasn't heard from JARVIS all day.

"JARVIS? You there?"

"Always, Mr. Stark. How may I assist you?"

"Oh, fuck no, not this again, goddamn it. What the hell's your problem?"

JARVIS's voice is icy, and _is there anyone I _haven't_ pissed off today?_ "My problem is, sir, that you were in trouble and you went into my base programming and dismantled my ability to procure assistance for you. I was forced to reply to Colonel Rhodes, who _wants_ to aid you, that I could not help him in that."

_Oh, yeah_. Tony remembers doing that at about the same time he'd made the decision to not hide his liquor bottles.

_Maybe that wasn't the smartest choice I've ever made, huh?_

"I don't really know what to say to you, J. I'm sorry that I upset you, man. Feels like that's what I'm going to be doing for the rest of the day, apologizing for being such a fuck-up."

"I believe that whining about it will accomplish nothing productive, and I would advise against making Colonel Rhodes any angrier than he already is."

_Okay, maybe I deserve that level of snark. But _ouch_._

"Can you put me through to Pepper, then?"

Better bite the bullet and do this shit before he loses his nerve.

"Connecting your call now, sir."

"_This had better be quick, Tony Stark,"_ Pepper snaps.

"I need to apologize, Pep."

"_Yeah, you do. I've got lunch at 1:30, be here then and we'll talk."_ She hangs up the phone; he can hear the click.

_Well, then_. "JARVIS, what time is it?"

"It is eleven-forty-seven AM, sir."

Tony's already showered, and he doesn't know what else he should be doing before he goes to see Pepper.

Wandering into the living room, he drops down on the couch, thinking.

If he's going to talk to Natasha, and he really _should_, Rhodey has made a great point about that, doing it over the phone might be a bad idea. Or at least he thinks so.

But so might be turning up unannounced. So he sends a quick message to Natasha, just a short 'Heading back to NY later.'

He doesn't expect a reply, and there isn't one. That doesn't stop him from keeping his phone within hearing range, though.

Pulling up a blank document, he spends some time making lists about what he should say to Pepper and then Natasha before JARVIS, who has apparently decided to take the passive-aggressive route to expressing his anger, inserts a blinking clock right into the middle of Tony's display.

He can take the hint, and he saves the document, and sending it to his phone. Then he heads up to his room to put on something more suitable for meeting with Pepper than jeans.

Properly attired in a suit, he grabs his phone and wallet, and goes down to the workshop, hopping into one of his less-flashy cars, the keys already in the ignition.

He's not looking for attention today, would rather not drive around in his convertible with the top down.

The drive to Stark Industries' HQ is short and quiet. He flicks off the stereo, preferring the stillness.

Once he's there, he checks the clock, and he's ten minutes early, so he starts the car again and drives around the corner to a small little bakery of which he knows Pepper is extremely fond, if only because she used to ask him to pick up shit from there at least once a week.

He walks in and the bell over the door jingles softly; the woman behind the counter looks up.

"Ah, Mr. Stark. Ms. Potts said you might be in today. I have her usual ready."

"Uh, thanks." Pepper is almost scarily organized, and it kind of stings that she's ordered her _own_ apology present.

Probably a lot like the times she's ordered her own birthday presents. And Christmas presents.

So not _that_ unusual, then.

He pays and accepts the bag from the employee quietly, returning to SI and parking his car in the lot.

One of the things that went along with his nice office was his special parking space, and he has to park in the back of the lot now.

The receptionist inside covers the mouthpiece of her phone and informs him that Ms. Potts is expecting him.

She goes back to her conversation as he walks towards the elevator.

Outside Pepper's office, he knocks on the open door. She's also on the phone, and she points him to the chair in front of her desk, continuing on her conversation.

When she's done talking, she fixes him with a look, and he immediately wants to hide behind something, perhaps that fucking spinning _thing_ that she _still_ hasn't taken off her desk.

But he forces himself to meet her gaze, and after a moment she softens.

He offers her the bag, and she takes it, rising from behind her desk.

"Come on, I hate eating in here."

She leads him down the hall to the employee lounge, which is empty.

Tony's not sure where to start, so he just blurts out, "So. Uh. I started dating Natasha."

Pepper's response to that is an even, "I saw. Kinda hard to keep that private."

"Oh. Yeah. And she and I broke up."

"So that's your excuse? You get me in trouble with the Board because your girlfriend broke up with you and you felt the need to go on a bender? You're one selfish son of a bitch."

"First, yes, I will admit to doing that. Very immature of me, I know, Rhodey and JARVIS have already chewed me out for that."

"And you're not acting any better at the moment," she states, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Okay, fine, can we start over? We're totally starting over. Um, hi, Pepper. I fucked up, and I put you in an unfair position, and that's really not cool. I'm sorry. You deserve better than to be cleaning up all my messes all of the time."

She uncrosses her arms and reaches into the bag Tony had given her. Pulling out the pastry inside, she says, "Thank you for your apology. I understand that you're an extremely emotionally stunted individual, Tony. And for what it's worth, I hope it works out with the two of you. You deserve to be happy, and we never were good for each other."

"I'm trying to work on that. And thanks, Pep. You too."

"Good. I'm glad to hear that. Now. I just got the new numbers for your merchandise line; those team t-shirts are selling beautifully among certain demographics."

He appreciates her willingness to change the subject, and they chat about several work-related matters in a tone that is _almost_ back to how it was before they were dating.

He apologizes again before he leaves, and climbing back into the car, he feels lighter, somehow.

* * *

'Stark, when you get home, come talk to me first thing, okay?'

'Sure thing, Barton. See you in a few.'

Tony does not specify whether hours or minutes, and returns his attention to repacking the few things he'd bothered to unpack.

Rhodey is drifting in and out, randomly barking out bits of advice and then sprinting away before Tony can ask any of the questions eating him up inside. Tony thinks that this is Rhodey's form of payback, but he may wake up one morning with his bed floating in the middle of the ocean, courtesy of War Machine, instead.

All ready to go, Tony gives Rhodey a big hug, and offers to take him to New York with him.

"No, Tones, you need to do this on your own. You're a big boy, now."

"Thanks, Rhodey. You're awesome."

"Catch you on the flipside; I'm heading back tomorrow. New tactical op."

"Sucks, sweet cheeks. Be safe."

"Course."

And then Tony leaves, and Rhodey goes back inside; he'll be using Tony's guest room (one of them anyway) for his last night stateside. Tony feels bad that Rhodey's break has essentially been babysitting him.

And he makes a promise to himself to stop being such a selfish little douchecanoe and get his shit together and start being the kind of person who deserves the awesome friends he has.

* * *

"What is it, Barton?" Tony asks. He's just arrived in New York and hasn't even gone to put his bag in his room yet; it's still slung over his shoulder.

But JARVIS had informed him upon his arrival that 'Mr. Barton' was waiting for him in the archer's quarters, and so Tony had gone there first.

"I probably owe you an apology."

That's a new one. People don't apologize to Tony (well, _most_ people anyway, those who do are either named Pepper or Rhodey, or just trying to kiss his ass). "What for, birdbrain?"

"That's not helping, you know. And I'm the one who gave Nat this bullshit idea about you two moving too fast. Which I don't think is really true, by the way, but I guess I'm jealous."

And this isn't amateur psychology hour, and Tony _knows_ it's a dick move, but he ignores the last part of that statement in favor of the first.

"So, what, you told her to break up with me?"

"She said you two were 'taking a break,' not broken up, dumbass. And I didn't, she got that bright idea all on her own. She doesn't know how to do relationships, and she doesn't have any healthy models. She's as lost as you are, Stark. Possibly even more so, you and Potts were a thing for a while. She's never had anything even remotely like that."

Tony hasn't really ever considered that possibility; Natasha seems so confident and in control.

He says so, and Clint laughs, "Do you not _know_ what she used to do for a living? She's the best actress I've ever seen, and I've seen plenty."

"...Huh."

"Yeah, 'huh.' So I'm sorry, and you should go talk to her now, asshole."

Tony thinks it's possibly quite unfair that Clint can call him 'dumbass' and 'asshole' but he can't call Clint 'birdbrain.' That's not the issue here, though, so he nods and thanks his teammate.

After dumping his bag in his room (he looks and feels like a dork carrying it around), he's as ready as he's ever going to be.

* * *

He finds her in the gym, running on the treadmill with headphones on. Beautiful.

Walking into her line of vision, he makes sure to get her attention before stepping back and waiting.

He knows she doesn't like her workouts being interrupted, and unless it's something very urgent, she'll probably finish up what she's doing before engaging with him.

This proves to be a correct assumption, as she promptly turns her eyes back to the display on the treadmill.

He can wait; it only seems fair, and so he pulls his phone out to look back over his notes on this upcoming conversation, also parsing through those sales numbers Pepper had mentioned earlier. They're decent, but they could do with some improving. He'll have to get on that.

Soon, though, the treadmill starts to slow, as she moves into the 'cool down' segment of her regimen.

Stepping off, she shakes her hair out before putting it back in a ponytail and looking him in the eyes. "Wanna do this in here, or go somewhere more private?"

"Whatever you want."

"Come on, then."

She takes him back to her room, which he takes as a good sign, and sits in a chair.

He takes the couch, and then a deep breath.

"I think I fucked up by leaving."

"You might be right."

"What do you mean by that?" He tries to sound only curious and not accusing.

"I think I freaked out and asked for something I didn't want. And...I don't know how to admit when I'm wrong, when I made a mistake."

"Oh." Impulsively, Tony puts out a hand, leaning forward, and she takes it.

He smiles at her for that, big and bright. "I missed you."

"You too."

_That's encouraging, but full disclosure, Stark. Don't fuck this up._

"I should probably tell you; I got stupid drunk and now Pepper and Rhodey want to kill me for having to take care of my dumb ass."

"Pepper?"

"Yeah. I quit answering my phone, so Rhodey texted her to see if she knew what was up. Don't know _how_ he knew I was in Malibu, but he did. And she came over, walked out on a Board meeting, even, and found me. Somehow I got to my bed, not really sure about that, but when I woke up, Rhodey was there."

"You've got good friends."

"Barton would do the same for you." He's pissed at Barton, sure, but he knows belittling her best friend is the fastest way to get back on her bad side.

And he doesn't want that.

"Well, I haven't been too much use to anybody, either."

"We're kind of fucked up, aren't we?" he asks before he can censor himself.

But she just smiles kind of regretfully and nods her head.

"So, uh, are we still on a break or what?" He can't wait any longer, he has to know.

"Uh, I don't _want_ to be. Do you?"

"Hell no."

"But I think maybe we should slow down a little. Make sure everything's still balanced, like work and friends and shit."

"Sounds like a good plan to me."

And then she's in his lap, and her mouth is on his, and there's not much more talking to do after that.

* * *

Tony goes down to dinner with Natasha, and is greeted warmly by his teammates. He apologizes for leaving, and Steve tells him that he would like to be notified if Tony ever feels the need to get away for a few days again, but they leave it at that.

They hold him responsible for his actions, certainly, but they don't hold them against him, and that's a really nice feeling.

He's assimilated back into the team like he never left, and he and Natasha don't sit next to each other at the table. It's better, he thinks. This way, he _has_ to pay attention to the rest of his friends.

And that's good. Dinner conversation runs the gamut from who's up next in interviews (Tony, uh oh) to what everyone's been doing.

Loki's quiet, contributing little, as seems to be his habit. Darcy's loud, and sloppily organized. Thor is also slightly loud as he asks when his turn to go on TV will be (Darcy's not sure yet—wants to maybe wait until he and Bruce can come out). Bruce talks to Tony about looking over the chemistry set they're putting out with his name on it, and they agree to work on that tomorrow. Steve's involved with everyone, and he seems a little less withdrawn than he had been (Tony has noticed, even as wrapped up in his own shit as he's been).

The new Bond movie, which he hasn't seen yet, comes highly recommended by Clint (also with some odd laughter, Tony will never understand the archer), so after dinner Tony catches Natasha's arm and asks if she'd like to watch it with him tomorrow.

She would, and he goes up to bed, _exhausted_. It's been a long day.

* * *

They do watch the movie the next day, and Tony learns why Clint had been snickering. Apparently it's got some inaccuracies, and Natasha kindly identifies those for Tony. He even picks up on one; as an ex-weapons designer, he _knows_ a gun shouldn't be doing that.

And they talk afterwards, and it's good.

She's not cool with them moving into one room together (as Thor and Bruce appear to have done), says that she's not a very good sleeper and that Clint still sometimes needs her in the night.

Tony knows better than to argue with that. He wouldn't want her to attempt to get between him and Rhodey, and it goes without saying that this same courtesy should be extended to her.

They decide to try and do couple-y shit about three times a week, not really any more than that. She's still a little spooked, he can tell, and to be honest he's as blind about this sort of thing as she is.

Pepper'd already practically been living with him before they'd gotten together, and so it was a simple thing to move her in down the hall (she insisted; said their sleep schedules were too different and she didn't want to be disturbed when he slipped in at four in the morning, not while she was running _his_ company, thank you very much). And they spent most of their time together, so taking time away from work shit for couple shit instead wasn't much of a hardship or a change.

With Natasha, though, it's different. And he can respect that.

So they make their plans, and agree that this talking to each other shit isn't as bad as they might have made it out to be.

And Tony's happy, and the expression on Natasha's face suggests that she is, too.

And that's more than he'd ever thought he could have.

* * *

Rhodey calls the next morning, yawning after every sentence, but he wants to know how things with Tony are.

"Great. And I'm only going to say this once, so you listen good, honey bear, but you were right. Thanks."

"Wow, I hope JARVIS was recording that because I'm probably not going to remember it in the morning."

"Well, you get some sleep. See you soon, I hope. I've got some nice shiny new toys for you."

"Thanks, Tones. Looking forward to it. Be happy."

They hang up, and Tony, again, thinks that he really _is_ happy.

And he arranges things so that Happy can get that car he's been wanting, and he sends Pepper another short email thanking her.

Then, he asks JARVIS to let Bruce know that he'll be in his lab whenever Bruce is ready to come down, and he starts putting the final touches on his new suit, taking some time to reflect on the last few days and what's to come.

As far as the team goes, Tony knows it's still got problems, namely Bruce and Loki, but they've got plans to fix this, and they seem to be working.

And as for Tony and Natasha, they're learning how to communicate effectively.

Which is good.

So Tony thinks things are looking up. And being optimistic feels good, as it turns out.

Sure, he figures that he and Natasha are going to have some more rough patches, some epic screaming matches, but in the end things will work out. They've laid a solid foundation, are figuring this thing out together, are learning what it means to fuse together, to be two parts of a whole.

And that's where their story ends; they've shared what they are willing to.

But that's okay. After all, they're just one part of a larger team.

**END ****— PART II.**

* * *

**Well, readers, that's all finished. A few things, if you will.**

**1. I couldn't have written this without dysprositos. She's been an unending source of assistance and telling me that no, I am not actually fucking everything up. She's the best. Thank you, beta buddy.**

**2. Thank you to all my readers. I love hearing from you, and knowing that you're there is always awesome. I so appreciate the feedback and support I've gotten. So, thanks from the bottom of my heart.**

**3. Clint and Steve's story, _Friction_, is now up!**

**I hope to see y'all then, but for now, anybody got anything to share?**


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